


Achilles' Heel

by restorick



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Humor, Gen, Remembrance Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 05:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1458181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restorick/pseuds/restorick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A weakness, in spite of your strength, can lead to your downfall. But it also takes a lot of strength to allow yourself to be vulnerable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was two thirds written at the time of Lewis’ passing. I couldn’t look at it for a long while but it kept nagging at me to be finished. ‘Achilles’ Heel’ has been more than a year in the writing but I finally got there.
> 
> Set in 1983. Follows ‘Reunion’.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lads visit a mate of Bodie's. A busman's holiday ensues.

Achilles’ Heel  
A weakness, in spite of your strength, can lead to your downfall. But it also takes a lot of strength to allow yourself to be vulnerable. 

Set in 1983. Follows ‘Reunion’. 

Chapter 1

A gravelly voice came from beneath a newspaper. “Will you explain, again, why I agreed to come so far on only a weeks’ leave?”  
“Because, sunshine, I’m your mate.”  
Doyle flung the paper away from his face. He sat up and peered out at the morning, all bleary-eyed crankiness. “Yeah, my annoying mate, with more energy than he’s a right to from a couple of hours’ sleep in a service station!”  
“Bought you breakfast, didn’t I?”  
“At four this morning, I didn’t call it ‘breakfast’.”  
“Can’t call it a midnight feast.”  
“Hardly...”  
“Pre-breakfast, then. There you are, a new mealtime: ‘prekfast’!”  
“Bodie!”  
“Alright! We’re nearly there now. You slept right through the speeding. Good job there were no arrogant coppers around. Cowley would have loved that; us, done for a traffic offence and in his own country, too!”  
“Oh no, not ‘us’. You. I’m just the passenger!”  
Having been lived in for 24 hours, the inside of the car was a tip with cans, sandwich wrappers and blankets strewn around the inside. It hadn’t been this bad since a particularly long and pointless stakeout, a while before. The partners were weary, crumpled and unshaven and pleased to be on the home straight, but not at being slowed down by the countryside lanes.  
Bodie had happily volunteered to drive this final stretch despite being the driver last night. He was looking forward to seeing an old forces friend who he’d only recently picked up with following years of sporadic phone calls and word of mouth news. And having heard about him, Doyle was keen to meet Andy Strawbridge and spend a few days relaxing in this unknown part of the country. The recent grind of CI5 had been pretty full on and both partners were tired and in need of a break. So when Bodie had suggested that he come to Scotland, Doyle had jumped at the chance.  
“Stop moaning and grab those directions, we’re getting pretty close now,” Bodie requested. “Andy may not be home yet. His shift ended last night but if the helicopter’s delayed by weather, he’ll be in later. Said the spare key would be with the neighbour and we’re to make ourselves at home.”  
“Good,” Doyle interrupted, rasping a hand across his stubble. “I can catch up on some sleep. Don’t want him thinking I always look this rough.”  
“But you do...” Bodie began, only to have an empty coke can flung at him. He laughingly threw it back, thankful that they’d met no other traffic for miles. “Look, there are no sign posts or road names out here. I need you to direct me.”  
“They’re a bit sketchy, Bodie! ‘Pass the letterbox’. ‘Turn right by the bendy tree’...?”  
“Andy called from the rig. The connection wasn’t great, so we just stuck to landmarks.”  
“Right, this looks like ‘the old barn’; go that way,” Doyle indicated.  
“Anyway,” Bodie added as he navigated a fork in the road, “in a place like this, everyone knows everyone. An English rigger who’s lived here for the last five years will be known. We can always ask a local.”  
Doyle looked at him doubtfully. “And what if the natives aren’t friendly, Kemo Sabe?”  
“I’ll slay ‘em with my natural charm,” the man grinned, not even considering that it wouldn’t be successful. “The pub will be the best bet. I could easily sink a pint after this long drive.” His face fell as he checked the dashboard clock. “Except the pub won’t be open, it’s only half eight.”  
Doyle cheered him up with a sweetener. “Ah, but in ‘a place like this’ a pub is centre of the community. The lock-ins will be legendary, you mark my words.”

 

Eventually the car nosed down a narrow track that gave them glimpses of the sea. Bodie was chewing his lip in concentration and Doyle had woken up properly for the meeting.  
He knew that Bodie and Strawbridge had been close during their SAS days. They’d passed the entrance tests together and were in the same patrol for a time. Their specialisations separated them, day to day, but a strong friendship had continued on. Doyle was curious as to why they’d drifted so far apart since Bodie joined CI5 and what this guy, who in reality had been one of his partner’s partners before himself, was like.  
The lane ended in a long white-painted building and an amazing coastal panorama. Doyle was about to find out.  
“Looks like he’s in, then,” Bodie nodded at a beat up old Land Rover.  
“Does that thing actually go?”  
“If it’s Andy’s, like a rocket!” Bodie was gleeful. “His bag was advanced mechanics. That probably does a ton. One thing you should know about Andy, don’t let first appearances fool you. And I’ve no doubt the same goes for his Landie.”  
“I shall be suitably impressed if the heap even moves. Park there, the left is his half. Is the neighbour this ‘Mrs McGregor’?”  
“Yeah, these were coastguard’s cottages until the Sixties. Her husband was one of the last here.”  
They pulled up beside the Land Rover and hauled themselves out of the car, stretching and crunching their backs. Each retrieved their bags from the boot along with a crate of beer and a box of certain English delicacies that Andy had ordered; among them, brown sauce, Marmite, PG Tips tea and bars and bars of Cadbury’s milk chocolate.  
Doyle breathed in the crisp salt tang with satisfaction. “Ahh! Now for a nice, peaceful week off.”

 

Knocking louder and louder on the front door brought no reply and Doyle was peering into a window when a voice called out, “Who are ye wantin’?”  
Whereas the two arrivals clearly announced themselves to be soft city people by being bundled up in warm jackets, the elderly lady had on a sweater and plaid skirt and was standing in slippered feet in the stiff wind, as if it were high summer. She was weathered and grey but had keen, bright eyes that were assessing the strangers.  
Fiona McGregor had lived this tough rural life for all of her eighty years and nothing much unnerved her. Despite knowing her neighbour was expecting visitors she was going to be cautious, all the same.  
Bodie effortlessly went into the aforementioned charm mode. “We’re looking for Andy Strawbridge. You must be Mrs McGregor,” he crooned, offering his hand to the lady.  
She regarded the gesture with suspicion. “And who might you be, laddie?” she asked, in a manner that reminded him of Cowley.  
“We’re friends of Andy’s. I’m Bodie and this,” he turned to his smiling companion, “is Doyle. Andy said you might meet us if he wasn’t home, yet.”  
The woman’s face softened as the visitor’s names were recognised. “Aye, Andrew said to expect you. But he’s home, y’ken. I heard his truck come in early this mornin’. I expect he’s deep asleep. Works so hard, does Andrew,” she said, rolling the name with affection.  
Mrs McGregor suddenly disappeared back inside her cottage and the men exchanged a look of amusement. “Too late,” Doyle commented. “Andy’s cast his own charms here. You’ve got some catching up to do.”  
She reappeared just as quickly, offering a key. “Tak’ the spare and let yourselves in. Nothin’ wakes Andrew when he’s just returned. But don’t you go making a racket. You hear me now?”  
The men nodded readily, the fearsome lady making them too meek to object. “If the locals are all like this, then we might have well stayed at home!” Doyle whispered.  
As they entered the cottage, their quiet sniggering was abruptly silenced and they put down their loads. The sight that met them wasn’t quite what either had been expecting. As the pair took in the living room, Doyle didn’t know what to say but as the seconds became astonished minutes he had to speak up. “Bodie, does your mate always live like this?”  
The cottage was in turmoil with pictures hanging askew, drawers and cupboards open, their contents on the floor. Not an inch had been spared.  
“Andy? Andy, you here?” Picking his way across the chaos, Bodie was taking it all in. “Kitchen’s the same,” he reported back.  
Doyle had gone into what appeared to be a study. “This one, too.”  
They reassembled in the main room. “Andy isn’t like this. At least the Andy I knew wasn’t,” Bodie thought aloud. “This doesn’t feel right. Are you carrying?”  
“Weren’t expecting the need to. They’re in the case, locked in the boot. You don’t think...”  
“Something funny’s gone on here. I’ll check upstairs.”  
“Right.” Doyle started for the hallway.  
But Bodie shoved him toward the front door. “No. Get our guns.”  
Doyle didn’t have time to argue as the man disappeared upstairs. Chewing his bottom lip, Doyle took a last glance back and went outside.  
Bodie drew a deep breath while scaling the winding stairs. He hoped that Andy hadn’t made this mess. Because if he had, it probably meant one thing and if that had happened he wanted to find his old friend by himself. He could explain to Doyle afterwards.

 

“Ray? No one’s here. The bedrooms have been gone over and the hatch to the loft is open. Had a chin-up and that has, too.”  
Doyle was at the foot of the stairs, the telephone and torn cable in his hands. “Nothing outside. The Land Rover’s cold and whoever it was, didn’t want this known about.” As he handed over Bodie’s pistol, police training came to the fore. “It could be a burglary, but if that’s Andy’s wagon where is he now?”  
Suddenly there was a noise in the main room at which both froze. Guns at the ready, the partners automatically backed against each side of the doorway.  
The high pitched scream, as the two armed men burst into the room, would have wakened the dead let alone a startled elderly neighbour who appeared shortly after. For the present, a curvy blonde armed with a large tribal mask was shouting, “Whoever you are, get the hell out of my house!” as she threatened them with the makeshift weapon.  
The men, seeing that she was more afraid than a danger to them, held up their guns. Then Bodie stepped further into the room, tucking his away into his waist band. “Rachel! Rachel, it’s me, Bodie. Andy’s army pal.” He held out his empty hands and the woman backed away, lowering the souvenir.  
“Oh, for God’s sake Bodie, you scared the life out of me!”  
“Sorry, love. We’ve just arrived and Andy’s not here.”  
“When I saw all this, I thought you were...”  
“Rachel? Rachel, is that you?” Mrs McGregor was at the front door, trying to peer in.  
Bodie shook his head at the younger woman, pointing at the mess and she seemed to understand instantly. She slid around the door, pulling it closed behind her.  
Doyle moved alongside his partner, pocketing his gun, a questioning look on his face. “Is there something you’re not telling me or am I being paranoid?”  
They could hear Rachel explaining her surprise at their appearance and that nothing was wrong. Bodie was more attentive to what was going on outside the door than he was the within. “Bear with us. Explain everything when we’ve got the old dear out of the way.”  
“Oh, great!” Doyle turned away, hands on hips. He didn’t like being kept in the dark, especially when it was something from Bodie’s past. Stuff like this had crept up on them and caused havoc before and he’d hoped there were no more skeletons in his partner’s cupboard to be uncovered. It seemed, as they waited for the woman to return, that he was wrong.

 

After the introductions, Rachel looked around while the men cleared a path. Nothing was missing as far as she could tell, when she suddenly headed for the fireplace. Rachel stepped across the mess and turned back to the men, an empty half bottle of scotch in her hand. “Oh, I had a feeling something was wrong! He usually calls me once he’s back.”  
Sitting in the kitchen, Bodie explained the caginess to his partner with half an eye on Rachel’s reaction. “Andy has a few problems, Ray, after the army. Sort of... repercussions. He’s told me that he and booze don’t get on so well, these days.”  
“And I left him in the summer because of it.”  
The men looked uncomfortable, expecting tears, but Rachel was a military girlfriend and it took more than this to upset her.  
“Doyle, you know what I mean?” Bodie needed his own reassurance. Doyle nodded, relieved that it wasn’t a ghost of Bodie’s they were dealing with and let his partner lead the conversation. Unfortunately, Bodie was now more concerned about Strawbridge. “So couldn’t you have stayed, Rache'? Help Andy through it?”  
“I tried to. What do you think I’ve been doing all these years? But I’m his partner, not his mother!” Frustrated at the deep-rooted forces attitude, she got up and away from the carrier of such beliefs. As Rachel crashed the kettle from the stove to fill a teapot, anger got the better of her. “Oh, of course! We women are supposed to stay at home and pick up the mess when you lot return, aren’t we?” She rounded on the man, eyes ablaze. “We’re not s’posed to think of ourselves. It got so he was impossible to live with. Do you know how that feels, Bodie? Do you?”  
“Actually, I do. A bit.” He looked sideways at Doyle who smiled minutely in support.  
She softened again. “Not you, too?”  
“Only very occasionally and not like this. Rachel, it must be hard, but you still keep an eye on him. You keep coming back.”  
“I haven’t stopped caring for Andy. I still love him... I still love him; just don’t like him very much, sometimes.”  
“He told me he kicks off occasionally, but this...”  
“This is new. He’s never done anything like this, before.”  
“That’s drink for you,” Doyle said, knowingly.  
“No,” she leapt to her boyfriend’s defence, “He’s not a drunk! It’s not the problem, drinking’s the fall out. He can usually have a social one or two with no worries. It’s just when one of his moods comes on him, then he gets drunk to blot it out.”  
“Sorry. What happens, Rachel?”  
“Well, it can be the silliest things. A sudden noise, something on the news, a name that reminds him. Then he gets quiet, moody and eventually just... ‘goes’.”  
“Yeah, it happens.” Doyle looked ruefully at his friend.  
“He just used to get legless now and again,” the woman continued. “But after a few years it got so that, if he started, he couldn’t stop until he was out cold.” Rachel’s voice grew quiet. “He says it’s that or he thinks he’d hurt someone.”  
“He hasn’t...?”  
“No, not physically anyway. He wouldn’t. Bodie knows that.”  
“Yeah, a regular gentle giant is our Bridgie,” he agreed, affectionately.  
“He has a lot of self control, still. It’s only been during his off time, he wouldn’t risk his job. He’s too busy or tired at work, it’s like an escape. The noise on the rig is constant, so it doesn’t bother him and there’s no drink allowed,” Rachel explained. “I think Andy turns it inward to save the rest of us. Except that no longer worked after a while. But he can’t talk about it. You know how you all are.”  
The pot of tea brought her back to the table and she poured the drinks, sighing, “I’ll clear this mess up and have a look for him. But I have to get back to the dog, he usually has her for the time he’s home.”  
“We’ll help, love and... Ray?” Bodie thought to ask his partner.  
“’Course we will. And we’ll look for Andy, save you coming back.”  
Bodie gave Doyle a grateful glance as Rachel dropped into a chair with relief. “Oh, will you? I know where he might go. Then, if he’s not around here, I’ll ring his Mum and have a chat. I won’t say I’m looking for him; she’s got enough on her plate. But if he’s in Kent, she’ll tell me.”  
“Right, that’s a start, isn’t it?” Bodie was trying to lighten the situation even if he didn’t feel it himself. “We’ll find him Rache’, don’t worry.”

 

As the men lifted furniture upright while Rachel put things back in their proper places, they chatted quietly. “Something’s bothering you.”  
“This definitely isn’t a burglary. Too methodical, too thorough. You’d go for the obvious: cupboards, drawers, anything that’s locked. But not every single piece of furniture and certainly not the loft.”  
“So he’s trashed the place in a drunken fit.”  
“Does it look like that?”  
“No, I guess not. Nothing’s thrown around or broken. More like it’s been searched.”  
“Well done. We’ll make a detective of you, yet.”  
“Go on then, Sherlock.”  
“They had some time, but possibly didn’t find what they were looking for because they went right through the place.”  
“Or he disturbed them.”  
“Maybe he went after whoever it was. Does Andy have anything valuable?”  
“Not that I know of. Look, I’ll find out more from Rachel before she goes. We’ll keep up the ‘looking for him on a bender’ story until we know more ourselves.” Bodie looked back. “Are you sure about this?”  
“’Course. Haven’t come all this way just to turn around and drive back, have we? Besides, Rachel’s a nice girl. Can’t let a lady down.”  
Bodie made the punch-to-the-arm gesture which often sealed their deals and went to find her.

 

She was coming out of Mrs McGregor’s. “I’ve said Andy’s been called back to the rig but you’re staying. She’s swallowed it, but I didn’t like lying to her. Fiona’s been a good friend to both of us, especially to Andy since I left. She didn’t make too much of that, either. I think she had an idea. She must have heard our rows.”  
“Then it’s better that she doesn’t know, eh?”  
They rejoined Doyle inside the cottage and the men began a gentle interrogation. “Did Mrs McG hear what went on to cause this mess?”  
“Says she heard Andy draw up when it was still dark, but she’s elderly and these walls are pretty thick. Then she went to the bathroom about five. Looked out, saw his Land Rover and there was another car as well.”  
“Make, colour?”  
“Just ‘dark, new and shiny’. She assumed it was you because you’re ‘city gents’.” They all smiled slightly at this description.  
Doyle looked at his partner. “Well, it wasn’t here when we arrived. Was he expecting anyone else, Rachel?”  
“Not that I know of. Only me and you. It might’ve been one of his work mates, I guess. Andy goes into the village but he keeps himself to himself most of the time. That’s why I was pleased to hear Bodie was back in touch and coming to see him. Oh, he could have gone to the old bothy he’s doing up. We... he grows vegetables there.”  
“Bothy?”  
“They’re the traditional old farms. Most of them are abandoned now, so Andy picked up his for a song and he chips away at it as a project, to keep fit. It’s lovely and quiet and I think it helps. Maybe he’s going to live in it, instead of here...” There was a catch in Rachel’s voice as she looked away from the men and through the window to the Land Rover outside.  
“How far away?”  
“A couple of miles beyond the village.”  
“But the truck’s still here,” Doyle reasoned. “Would he have walked or gone with his mate?”  
She was staring at the vehicle and Bodie could see tears beginning to come. He shifted forward, touched her arm and tried a gentle tone which brought her back into the room. “Has he been in any bother, something that might’ve set him off? I don’t mean to pry, love, but it might help us find him.”  
“Well, there’s his dad...” Rachel sniffed, blinking back her distress as she looked his way again.  
“Yeah, a stroke?”  
“They say it’s some kind of brain thing... dementia, and I think he’s terrified he might get it, too.”  
“Oh hell, that’s all he needs!”  
“I know. He’s so tough on the outside, but inside... Oh, now you mention it, something’s going on at work that’s stirred him up.”  
“Yeah?”  
“He’s been pushing for safer drilling equipment. The rigger’s job is so dangerous. Andy’s higher up now, operations engineer, but you know what he’s like, Bodie. Always has been hands on and the guys respect him for still getting his hands dirty. He understands what they do and how risky it is, so he’s been designing new equipment, with his background and everything. But when he and the manager pitched it to the company owner, they met nothing but resistance. He was really angry about it, last time I saw him.”  
“Anyone we could talk to?”  
“Yes, I’ll write it down.” Rachel got up, fetching an address book from her handbag. “The rig manager, Ross Speirs, will be the best person but you’ll not let on, will you?"  
“‘Course not. We’ll think of something. I want him back safe and with his job to go to, as much as you do.”

 

A while later, when the cottage was put to rights and the CI5 men made at home, their thoughts turned to finding the absent man. Rachel got ready to call into the village and see if Andy had been there. Bodie decided that he’d go with her and have that private chat. Doyle said he’d stay in case Strawbridge came back but didn’t want to be mistaken for a burglar, the way Rachel had done. Luckily, the woman had a photo to prove that they’d met.  
Rachel and Bodie walked down the hill and into the picturesque village hugging the coastline, about a quarter of a mile away.  
“I’ll get further with the villagers than you two, alone. You have to be born here or at least be third generation before you’re not thought of as an outsider,” Rachel smiled.  
“The locals took to you and Andy okay, though?”  
“They seem to accept us pretty well. We’re not weekenders. We work hard, join in with anything that’s going on. We just love... loved the place and they know when you’re being sincere or not.”  
The shop had everything a village could need, day to day, without having to go into the nearest town. Andy hadn’t been seen, when Rachel made conversation. The weather or pressures of work were agreed on as the likeliest causes for his delay and Bodie was regarded with acceptance as Andy’s friend. Rachel took Bodie to the chandler’s where he bought some spare torch batteries. They’d be needed if they had to mount a serious search in this landscape and he noted other useful kit they might use. Andy hadn’t been there, either. But the boat man said he’d get word to the electrician about the cottage’s phone line and Bodie got the assurance it would be reconnected by the next day.  
As they made their way to The Sea Widow, Rachel reopened their conversation. “Sorry I got angry. Andy was okay when he first got out, but things became more and more difficult. It’s really upsetting to split from him. We’ve been together a long time.”  
Bodie put an arm around her. “1973. I even remember the night you met, Rache’.”  
“You do? Didn’t think you went in for sentimentality.”  
“Can’t forget it easily, we were celebrating our sergeant’s stripes in that nightclub. What was it called?”  
“‘Foxy’s’.”  
“‘Foxy’s’! What a cattle market that was!”  
“Hey, my friends and I liked that place!”  
“Your good self excepted, of course. Andy picked you out straightaway as no regular member of the ‘herd’ that usually went there. I dared him to speak to you, you know.”  
“He was a bit shy at first, but we never really looked back from then on.”  
“No, made for each other you were. I was a touch jealous.” He grabbed his chest in a dramatic fashion.  
“Bodie! You had plenty of girlfriends. No doubt you still do,” she grinned, elbowing him in the side.  
“Not like you and Andy. Don’t give up on him yet, Rache’. Me? Plenty of women but no one...” Bodie sighed, squinting out to sea for a moment.  
“Except...”  
Bodie cut her short, focusing on the pub entrance. “Yeah, but a lot of water under the proverbial since then. And talking of bridges, this isn’t finding the one that’s missing, is it?”  
The pub was the expected heart of the village but gave the pair no more clues and Rachel began to worry all the more. Bodie convinced her to go back to Aberdeen and let them go to the bothy. They agreed they’d speak that night when Bodie would call her from the pub.

 

Back at the cottage, Doyle had been busy but didn’t report his findings until Rachel was being waved off. “Had a look in the Land Rover. Bags and life jacket still in it,” he said through a farewell smile as the woman’s car disappeared up the lane.  
“So, a car was already here and he went to investigate.”  
“Assuming it was ours. Perhaps it was someone he knew.”  
“In the early hours? Either way, something made him go straight inside and not take his gear.”  
“Exactly. And look here. I steered you both away from this spot. It’s where the other vehicle was parked. See?” Doyle was indicating some tracks. “Heavy vehicle, good tyres. We’ve trampled a lot of the footprints; two or three sets?”  
Bodie followed the vehicle and human trails methodically then returned to Doyle. “At least two with serious treads. Work boots? Could be ‘issue’.”  
“And one in ordinary shoes. They walked to the cottage; Andy’s come from his truck. But all of them came back this way and one wasn’t walking well. Look, drag marks.”  
Doyle let his partner absorb this for a moment. “Andy could’ve been taken somewhere,” he concluded before adding what Bodie might not want to hear, “Or he’s in bad company.”  
Bodie shook his head. “No. It doesn’t add up. A friend would’ve told Rache’ where he is. Plus Andy’s no mug and I don’t buy him going on a total bender. He knows we’re coming.”  
“If something’s got him angry...”  
“No.”  
“Bodie,” The warning in Doyle’s voice drew his partner back down to a crouch. Doyle’s fingertips were sticky with dark goo. As he smeared his thumb across them, they turned rust red. “This isn’t motor oil. It’s blood.”  
Bodie’s face hardened and he was suddenly up and away.  
“Where’re you going? Oi!” Doyle had to follow if he wanted a reply.

 

He found him back in the kitchen, a loaf of bread already on the worktop and the kettle set to boil. Bodie looked up. “Lunch,” he explained. Feeding himself apparently more important than the signs they’d just found.  
“Aren’t you even a bit interested? It looks as if your mate is involved in something dodgy. Willing, or not!”  
“Think better on a full stomach. You know that.”  
Doyle could hear the shutters coming down on Bodie’s thoughts and knew that if he pushed, there’d be no way in until his partner unlocked again. This wasn’t unusual. Better to let it go and see where the day took them, he decided. He elbowed Bodie aside from his massacre of the freshly baked loaf Rachel had brought. “Give me that. There’ll be none left at this rate!” Doyle nodded at the whistling kettle. “Do what you’re slightly less bad at.”  
And the deal was done.

 

As they ate, Doyle studied the photograph that Rachel had left behind. It pictured her sat at a dining table, laughing openly as she was bear hugged by a muscular man who had gingery blond hair and a degree of stubble that was almost a beard. Smartly dressed in a shirt and boldly patterned tie, Andy Strawbridge looked to be around the same age as himself and Bodie. The massive shoulders and arms easily led Doyle to imagine him in a flak jacket and holding an SMG, instead of the woman they’d met that day. Grinning at the camera, Andy looked like he was a good laugh, a bloke who had a lot going for him and clearly adored his girlfriend.  
There was a sigh from across the table and Bodie turned the snap toward himself. “Look happy, don’t they?” he said, through a mouthful of sandwich.  
“D’you take the picture?”  
“No. Hadn’t seen Andy in years, ‘til the reunion. Apparently, this was another mate’s wedding bash.”  
“You didn’t go. Weren’t you invited?”  
Bodie instantly got up, clearing their plates. “Not seen the others since leaving. C’mon, let’s see what that Landie can do.”  
Bang. Down came those shutters again. Subject over. Shut up, Doyle. 

\--oo0oo--


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Andy opens up old wounds

Achilles’ Heel  
A weakness, in spite of your strength, can lead to your downfall. But it also takes a lot of strength to allow yourself to be vulnerable.

Chapter 2

They approached the bothy in full view as if they’d every right to be there. Which they had, but the partners were still cautious, aware this was far from their usual territory. Between them they had experience of city, bush and criminals of many kinds. But this benign setting might be as risky as any and they’d no idea what was going on.  
The plot surrounding the low grey building was enclosed with a dry stone wall. Bodie noted how Andy had repaired it and made a new wooden gate. Surprisingly, Bodie found himself closing it behind him, respectful of his friend’s property when others had been trashing it.  
Doyle was taking in neat rows of vegetables as he moved through. Only winter stuff at present but a bare part was ready for the summer bounty. This drew their attention as someone had dug a couple of rough holes, the spade casually discarded on the ground. Doyle pointed and Bodie nodded in understanding. It was recent and hurried, possibly another sign of a search.  
Alert again, the partners looked in through the low windows as they passed, unafraid of being seen. The door was unlocked. They opened it onto the empty bothy. Now the pair swept through, quickly establishing they were alone. The same search had happened here and Andy had left or been taken away again, if he’d been there at all.  
Doyle followed Bodie back through the rooms, taking in the surroundings. The living area had a kitchen set up in one corner; the bedroom, at the back, a sink and bed. The loo was outside. All was basic, some might say Spartan, but comfortable enough for a night or two while tending the veggies and winding down from a fortnight on the rigs.  
Bodie looked around knowingly, imagining his friend here. Andy had everything he needed. A place to sit and watch the sea, sky and sunsets, a fire for warmth, a gas burner to cook a meal and a bed to sleep in. A dog basket in front of the hearth told Bodie that the animal was an important part of Andy’s life. The great softie.  
This wasn’t Bodie’s style for getting away from it all, but he understood Andy’s different needs. This place was right for clearing his head of the noise and pressure of work, for tuning out of the world and into himself. For tackling his thoughts. With Bodie it was a five star hotel, four poster bed, extensive menu and bar, and a stunning woman. That set him up for another round of CI5. But he could see Andy here, hermit-like, in dramatic scenery, simple home comforts and working the land with his dog for company.  
Needing clues as to what to do next, Bodie mooched back to the bedroom and paused in front of a built-in cupboard. Catching Doyle’s eye, they spoke without words. Why was this shut when Andy’s clothes were on the floor?  
Bodie tweaked the door ajar and breathed aloud. He planted his hands on hips before he twisted away, stalking across the bedroom.  
Doyle went over and finished the reveal.  
Bundles of crisp banknotes sat beside a package the size of a shoe box. Doyle brought it down. The protective wrapping enclosed smaller bags of pills in various colours. Reaching into his back pocket, he checked Bodie who was sat on the edge of the bed, glowering.  
Doyle cut into the plastic with his knife. There were a lot of drugs in this small parcel. A lot. Worth a couple of thousand on the street. Pulling some of the bags free, he held them up to peer in. “Looks like that stuff kids are using in the clubs in Ibiza and round the Med. Been turning up in Holland and Germany, lately. It’ll be London next.”  
From his side, one was snatched from Doyle’s hand. He hadn’t even sensed Bodie moving across the room. “Save us the drugs lecture, thanks.”  
The last bag was taken away and Bodie stuffed them back with the others. “Nothing to do with Andy. Never took more than a junior aspirin. Had to hold him down whenever we got our shots for abroad.”  
Bodie grabbed the money and loaded it on top of the pills. Doyle quickly calculated another five thousand. Bodie picked them up and walked away, determined to keep the faith. “This isn’t his.”

 

Aware they were either defending or damning Andy, neither could help but look closer around the bothy.  
There was more scotch. One bottle half empty on the table and part of a boxful. Bottles were dotted around the place, too. Stashed behind the loo cistern, inside a kitchen storage jar and under the mattress. Doyle gathered the cache silently, ferreting out the hidden booze within minutes. Bodie watched, growing increasingly annoyed at his partner’s expertise. He knew Andy, Doyle didn’t; and Doyle’s success only seemed to point out how distant Bodie and his old friend had become.  
Back in the main room, Doyle put the bottles on the table. “With the box that almost makes the dozen,” he sighed, looking at Bodie for a reaction. “I grant you, only one’s been started but it’s the sort of thing they do. Hide them for a quick fix.”  
Bodie dumped down the cash and pills. “I told you. None of this is his.”  
“You also said I shouldn’t take Andy at face value.”  
“I meant there’s much more to him than looking like a big oaf.”  
“Drinkers are devious...”  
“Oh, here we go...!”  
“...just let you see what they...”  
“...Raymond Doyle, amateur analyst! Can’t you see this has been staged? It’s too neat. He’s been set up and whoever found it was meant to think exactly what you are!”  
“You sure? Are you really sure that you know him these days? When did you last talk, really spend time together?”  
Bodie jammed his hands in his pockets as if he didn’t want anything to do with the money, drugs and booze. Or the accusation. “You know when. The reunion last month. I was the dummy in a dinner jacket, if you’ve forgotten,” he sneered.  
“One evening. After how long?”  
Doyle’s words were too soft, too reasonable. Bodie scowled.  
“Look, I know him. Andy doesn’t do drugs, no way.” Bodie’s hands were out and making that emphatic ‘no contest’ gesture. “Yeah, he likes a bevvie. Who doesn’t? How many times have we scraped the other up and got him home? But not like this. Not so’s he’d have this much, hide it and... Well, you heard Rachel, Andy is not an alchie!”  
“Coming from a long term girlfriend, that’s not very convincing.” Doyle saw Bodie’s expression and tried to put this more realistically. “She split from him what, four, five months ago? And she’s still in love with him. Rachel could be seeing this through rose-tinted glasses, same as you.”  
Bodie made a step forward, challenging, angry. “That’s your analysis - Bodie thinks like a bird? Since when did you question my judgement?”  
His partner looked down, thinking, when it’s something you keep quiet; every time, Bodie.  
Doyle took a calming breath. “You’re his mate. An old mate. And it’s colouring your judgement. What about this?” He picked up a wad of notes.  
“Can still smell the ink on ‘em. Planted to frame him.”  
“Think, Bodie. Who’s setting him up? Why frame him?”  
Bodie was exasperated. “I don’t know! Someone round here who doesn’t like incomers... there’s the work thing, maybe them.”  
“All this would lose him his job. But it could be bigger; could be smuggling” Doyle winced, “or a slush fund.”  
“Look around you. Does it look like Andy’s the money-grabbing type? Put that copper’s brain to better use!”  
“Exactly what I am doing!” Doyle slapped the money down. “You haven’t known him properly in years. I know you don’t come out of the army with a golden handshake. And there’s his dad...”  
“Leave it out! Frank’s a sick man, don’t drag him into this!”  
“Sick enough that his son would want to help him. Andy must be on a fair screw, but his parents will need help. Serious financial help.”  
“Watch it, Doyle, I’m warning you.” The tremor in Bodie’s voice was caution in itself.  
“All I’m saying is...”  
“I know what you’re saying and I don’t like the tone! Why d’you always have to question everything?”  
“Because, Bodie, I don’t want us mixed up in something that’s looking iffier by the minute! Don’t want you barrelling in and getting yourself burned!”  
“Yeah? How many times have I barrelled in for you? Maybe it’s someone else’s turn.” Bodie was up close now, arms rigidly by his sides and eyes bright with something other than anger. “Know what I think? Your copper’s brain is jumping to conclusions way ahead of the so-called proof. And that face tells me you’re pissed off ‘cause Andy’s an ‘older mate’ than you are!”  
They stared, unblinking, at each other.  
“Oh, just forget it! You don’t have to like it but I’m seeing this through.” Bodie waved dismissively as he turned away.  
Doyle stood with eyes half closed, filtering the sight of his partner grimly considering the hoard, trying to deflect the fury radiating from him.  
He turned away, too, and went about standing chairs upright. Then he put some papers back in a drawer and books on a shelf. Doyle fingered the spine of one that was well-thumbed, pretty sure it was the same volume of war poetry as back in London. Inside the front cover was a heartfelt dedication to Strawbridge in Bodie’s no-nonsense hand.  
Bodie was going to go after Andy no matter what the signs. Doyle knew he’d have done as much for Sid Parker. Would do it now for Bodie, without a doubt.  
Doyle looked across the room but the sound of bottles being loaded into the box and the packet of pills being shoved on top was all that broke their cutting silence for a while.

 

Last on the table were the first things Bodie had focused on as he arrived through the door. They’d injected him or set it up to appear that Andy had used.  
Doyle’s natural reasoning had hit a deep nerve in Bodie, but he’d managed not to thump his partner. Maybe even Bodie was starting to tune into himself, to get some control over his anger. All the same, Doyle was wrong. Just as others had been wrong about Bodie all those years ago. Everyone except Andy and Cpt. Statham, and yet Bodie had still punched Andy and walked away.  
He knew without question that Andy wouldn’t touch anything like this, wouldn’t dare. He had no way of proving that the stuff wasn’t Andy’s but it didn’t matter to Bodie, he just wanted to kill the bastards. And he’d get a few well-deserved punches in, first.  
No walking away this time. He started disgustedly wrapping up the drug gear.  
Knowing Andy, a beating and at least a bottle of scotch hadn’t subdued him enough. Always had taken a tank to stop the guy. But this wasn’t in the usual rules. And if whoever had him wasn’t playing nicely, then neither would Bodie. The game was on.  
Doyle’s voice cut through the reverie, reaching out but with an urgent edge. “Hey? You’ve got me at it, now.”  
“What?” Still smarting over Doyle’s suspicion, Bodie was just as furious at himself for reacting this way.  
“Here by the fire. My imagination?”  
As Doyle drew back, the message was loud and clear for Bodie. Andy had managed to get down there and arrange some kindling into a row of crosses. Three narrow diagonal crosses which could be a natural tangle to the untrained eye.  
Bodie visibly let go some of his tension. “This must’ve been Andy. At least he was compos mentis enough to leave me a message.”  
“Which is?”  
“Men. Three men.”  
“And he’s warning you about it.”  
“Yep. They’re not his mates.”  
Doyle hiked his eyebrows and blew out his cheeks. “Fair enough. At least we’ve got a better idea.”  
“A definite sign of ‘come and get me’.” Bodie finished putting the drug gear into a backpack. “Just need to work out where.”  
Doyle was conciliatory as he came toward the table. “Okay. You know him and I’ve got a nose for trouble.”  
Bodie finally looked at him, his face and voice relaxing a fraction more. “I’m doing it, Ray. But are you really up for it, too?”  
“Can’t think of anything else I’ve got on this week.” A flicker of relief ran across Doyle’s own face as he bagged the wads of notes. He shrugged, “You say Andy’s kosher, so convince me.”

 

As Doyle loaded the Land Rover with the evidence and kit they’d assembled for themselves, Bodie was silently fired up, pacing and searching.  
Ready to leave, Doyle found him studying the ground. “What’s up...? Or down.”  
Business-like, Bodie wasn’t yet ready for a joke. “Here, inside their tyre track. Insurance, ‘case I didn’t see the one in there.”  
Doyle followed his partner’s finger as it hovered over a shape drawn in the soil. It became clearer the more he looked: a vertical line with a cross underneath.  
“Come on Hiawatha, you know I wasn’t in the boy scouts.”  
“This was our calling card, our patrol’s, if we got separated on a job or wanted to annoy another on exercise. It’s an ‘up yours’.” Bodie made the insulting gesture. “Geeing up our own or giving competitors the finger, as it were. That’s our invite to get after him. Good old Bridgie.” 

 

Doyle got into the driving seat - a peace offering for doubting Bodie’s friend and his ancient Land Rover. He drove the vehicle as it was meant to be handled, enjoying the buzz of the high powered engine under its battered shell.  
Taking a quick glance at Bodie, Doyle was also re-appreciating these Special Forces types who were similarly hardened on the surface, hiding their deeper selves. The passenger was chewing his thumb, staring blankly out as the countryside streamed past.  
Needing to reconnect, Doyle broke the silence again. “So, what does the survival book tell us he might do now?”  
“Already done the first things: stay put, don’t move unless there’s no choice. And if you must move, leave a clear trail.”  
“But only clear enough for you.”  
Nodding, Bodie counted off more words of wisdom with his fingers. “If he’s in trouble, he’ll do all the things we’ve been taught. Y’know, don’t challenge them, balance the payoff of action against the consequences, keep your dignity... Andy’s really calm and clear-headed under pressure. He’ll try to get away if he can.”  
Bodie sounded almost as if he were trying to convince himself more than Doyle and finished by thumping the dashboard, making Doyle look again. “Only he’ll be up against it if he’s full of booze and shot with God knows what.” His face grew stony. “But Andy’ll think of something.”  
“So, anything could be going on?”  
Bodie beamed sarcastically. “Anything. Welcome to my old boy’s club!”

\--oo0oo--

Evening drew in quickly in this part of the country. Inside the cottage, Bodie moodily stoked the Aga and lit some oil lamps which sputtered and smoked, apparently echoing his frame of mind.  
Doyle took the hint and avoided chewing the matter over out loud, although his thoughts were probably churning as much as Bodie’s. And before too long, he was surprised to find himself ravenously hungry, the cold of Scotland making him appreciate the need for hot, solid food.  
This, Doyle didn’t feel worried about voicing and was rewarded as Bodie’s head came up, an interested look on his face. Grabbing their warmest jackets they made off to the village on foot, planning to add several pints and chasers to the meal to cheer them up.

 

The whole pub fell silent when the partners entered and they could feel every eye in the place turned on them. It was quite unnerving. Even Bodie made that small cough he used when he wasn’t quite sure of himself. Nodding and smiling to folks in what they hoped was a polite manner, Doyle let Bodie get to the bar first, reckoning that at least he’d been there earlier.  
Cowley would’ve been in his element, Doyle thought, as after warming up with some really good scotch they took their beer tankards and found a corner table.  
The stares started to peter out as word spread through the pub that they were friends of Strawbridge. After that, the occasional person nodded or gave a grunt of recognition and the friends passed a positive look between them.  
At least the locals, once they’d accepted you, gave you the respect of not bombarding you with questions, Bodie thought. He could see how Andy and Rachel had come to fit in with this community. It would suit his friends well. Could some of these people really be responsible for Andy’s disappearance?  
While Doyle was ordering, Bodie rang Rachel. He was gone a while but when he reappeared, the barmaid arrived with their food and conversation was on the light and trivial side. Were they enjoying the scenery? If they were going sea fishing, etcetera, until the girl departed, flashing her dark eyes at the newcomers.  
For once, Bodie wasn’t distracted but Doyle watched the Celtic beauty sway back across the room, filing away his ambition for when the greater concern had been tackled.  
“Well?” he questioned as they both applied condiments to plates of fat chips and crisply battered cod.  
Bodie began eating hungrily and frowned, the look implicit: let me get some grub down me, first. Doyle followed suit and the two men took the edge off their appetites before relaxing back to sup some beer and then continued eating with more appreciation.  
“As we thought. No sign of Andy in Aberdeen or at his parents’ down south. Rache’ is seriously worried,” Bodie reported.  
“What next?”  
“Backtrack, I guess.”  
Doyle was grinning. Marge Harper was a good informant, even now, but if she was in this neck of the woods he’d be very surprised indeed! “The rig,” he stated.  
“Exactly. Had an idea about that, too. If we get over there, we could get the story about this work bother and nose around for any clues.”  
“How we gonna do that, brains? Andy got a spare chopper stashed at his place, too?”  
“Rachel came up with that one. She’s ringing the manager, now. Going to tell him that Andy’s had to dash and see his dad and I’m an old army mate who’s visiting. He probably knows that, anyway. I suggested we’re writing a sort of post demob article for a forces rag. Y’know, ‘How I Survived and Made Good’.” Bodie’s voice was heavy with irony. “Drum up morale in those serving...” He stabbed his last few chips and wiped up a smear of ketchup.  
“We have no ID, nothing to back us up.”  
“No, but Rache’ says Speirs trusts Andy completely. With her say-so and me knowing Andy, we should be able to get in and out before there’s any suspicion.”  
“We could give HQ as contact, to verify us.”  
“Don’t want the Cow knowing about this if we can help it.”  
“Betty or one of the lads would cover for us. I’ll give base a call when we’re set, see who I can rustle up. So, John Hare needs to make a return?”  
“I thought so. Rache’ will give us the nod and I think the reporter should call to set up a visit, over his photographer.”  
“That’s you, I guess. Got a camera with you?”  
“Andy has. Meet your soldier turned snapper, Mr Hare!”  
“God save the free press!”  
“And how you going to play Hare, then?”  
“With no Press pass? Absent-minded academic, I think.”  
Rachel phoned back and had set them up. The rig manager was expecting his call and Doyle gave a fuller explanation to Speirs, taking down details of where they should report early the following morning.  
The next day’s expedition arranged, he returned to their table where Bodie was waiting expectantly.  
“We’re in, sunshine. And Murph’s on duty. He’ll prime Betty, tomorrow and they’ll field any calls. Come on, we’ve got an early start. Let’s get back before you turn into a haggis,” Doyle whispered.  
Bodie saluted and got up. Neither was surprised to see their every move watched as they left the inn, calling out their thanks.

 

The walk back to the cottage was cold, uphill and hindered by the wind. Before bed, Bodie insisted on making cocoa.  
He was right, Doyle thought as he sipped the warming drink, it was just what they needed. Especially for Bodie, he looked in want of something comforting. His mood of optimism with a plan in place seemed to have disappeared.  
“Bodie, you okay?” Doyle tried tentatively across the kitchen table.  
“Yeah. Bit tired. See you ‘bout five, then.” And Bodie was gone, stomping up the stairs while Doyle sat wondering in the lamplight.

 

And that night, she was there. Bodie had feared this would come. She hadn’t been in his head for such a long time but being around someone who knew what had happened, who was there at that time, had brought it all back.  
This is exactly why he left. Precisely why he shunned his family, his mates and the regiment - everything he knew that was at last constant, good and clean. Because they were suddenly tainted or being taken from him by force.  
Even now, he didn’t want to be reminded. There had been the photo in every wallet since, but it was tucked behind other things and never taken out. It was a talisman; a link to the good in his past that had brought him to this present. And in the future? He didn’t know how long the photo would stay hidden, because to leave it behind might be more painful than looking at it would.  
He was so stupid! Why had he come? Why had he risked this all coming out; risked Doyle finding out? Especially now, when it was so long ago and he’d managed to forget. And yet the visions wouldn’t be denied. There she was, so young, thin and pale, holding her long hair back from her face. Bodie holding her too, as she coughed and retched.  
When, finally, it finished and she was spent of energy she no longer had, she sagged at the knees. Bodie caught her, picked her up and carried her back to bed. He lay her down on one side, knowing that hurt less and in case she was sick again. Taking a flannel, he went to run it under cold water and then knelt at the bedside wiping her ashen face.  
She was reaching out, her fingers wordlessly asking for something. He knew what it was and found the thing on the floor beside him. Bodie put it in her hand and she clutched the T-shirt which she hardly let go of in those days. Like a kid with a comfort blanket she liked to press it to her face, breathing in his aftershave. It seemed to calm and comfort her. Even when he hadn’t been there, she said, he was still with her.  
Then fear for his girl suddenly snapped into fear for himself, for his world and Bodie’s other reason for being.  
He owed these people for straightening him out, for reminding him there was a better way to live than prostituting his talents in Africa. For showing him there was a more honourable code, amongst honourable men who wouldn’t stab you in the back or take away something that you loved.  
Yet here were those same people either suggesting he betray her family or suspecting him of dishonour, even of being a traitor himself.  
It confirmed Bodie’s suspicions that he was no better than those early years and Africa had been no young man’s escape. It was all he could be, would ever be. And without her, in the face of their accusations, he owed nothing to anyone. He was going back...

 

Bodie awoke suddenly, sitting bolt upright, breathless and rigid. The sheet was clinging to his sweating chest and for a brief moment he could still feel Claire’s weight in his arms.  
He couldn’t avoid it any longer. That was her name, Claire. Claire Geoghegan, niece of a suspected republican activist whose uncle, along with her illness, had brought down their whole world.  
There was a sudden knocking on the door. One of the people who’d helped Bodie back to life and showed him how to trust again was calling out. “Hey! You alright, in there?”  
Bodie shook himself back into the present. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s the idiot who’s making all the noise and disturbing my beauty sleep that’s the problem!”  
“Need all you can get, then!” Doyle’s retort couldn’t quite hide the concern in his voice. “Right... shall I take the bathroom first? We need to get going within the hour if we’re to catch that helicopter.”  
“Yeah, yeah.” Bodie snatched up his watch, “You go ahead, I’ll make some tea. Call me when you’re done, okay?”  
“Roger!”  
Bodie waited to hear the bathroom door open and close before he collapsed back. He wiped his face with his hands and took a few deep breaths. Yeah, Rachel was right, they all turned it inward and didn’t talk about it. He really should trust Doyle with this.  
Minutes later, Doyle cracked the bathroom door open. He looked cautiously out and saw Bodie trudging downstairs wearing the tight-fitting underwear that an air hostess girlfriend brought him back from America. At the sight, Doyle usually suggested that, as the name was written around the waistband, perhaps Bodie should give the undies back to this Calvin Klein. This time he kept his mouth shut.  
As Bodie’s face came into view on the winding staircase, Doyle caught his partner’s dark expression beneath the hand rubbing at his furrowed brow.

\--oo0oo--


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search continues out at sea, and within Bodie.

Achilles’ Heel

A weakness, in spite of your strength, can lead to your downfall. But it also takes a lot of strength to allow yourself to be vulnerable.

Chapter 3

The dawn drive in their own car was silent.  
Each had dressed according to their cover story. ‘John Hare’ was in smart casual, but minus the glasses worn last time he’d had an outing courtesy of Doyle. He was armed with a Dictaphone and notepad they’d found in Andy’s study. Doyle, as usual, looked the part for undercover work.  
Bodie sometimes admitted that he had to work harder to take on another character, but today it had been a breeze. Still Bodie but dressed down, for him, in the way civilians might expect an ex-army man to do. Completing the cover, Bodie carried Andy’s photographic case but had taken most of the lenses out, making space to stow anything else found on the trail.  
Topping off his less tailored outfit with his padded coat not only kept out the cold of the North Sea but made Bodie feel more at home in his own skin. And he needed that, today. Needed to be reminded of who and what he was, because the memories had stripped him down and he felt bare and exposed.  
The feeling was heightened by leaving their guns at the cottage; they’d not get onto the rig if armed. This week was becoming less and less certain and if there was one thing that made the partners more comfortable, it was the weight of a sidearm in a shoulder holster.  
But once they’d arrived at the dockside, got through the security gate and found the office portacabin, Bodie began to warm up in the familiar surroundings.  
Doyle was relieved to feel it. Despite this venture being about Strawbridge, Doyle’s sixth sense told him that, somehow, this was about Bodie as well; that the rollercoaster of emotions in his friend were much more complex. But he had little time to reflect on this as the reporter presented Hare and Bodie to the heliport staff.

\--oo0oo--

The oil rig, around eight miles out, was about as alien an environment as either CI5 man had experienced. Yelling into Doyle’s ear, Bodie likened it to hanging in a harness halfway up a cliff during a thunderstorm in hell.  
Doyle could only nod, aware of what he was getting at. There were extremes of noise, heat, cold, water and danger all about them simultaneously. You didn’t know how to think, let alone speak or hear. How men worked in these surroundings was beyond him. Escorted to the relative quiet and calm of the main control room, Doyle became Hare again as they were introduced to the rig manager.   
“Gentlemen.” Speirs shook each by the hand. “Seems we’re very popular at the moment!” He looked a bit cheesed off by their presence but didn’t explain the comment.  
He began checking up on them, though, gradually drawing them out on the purpose of the visit, where they’d come from and how they connected to Andy. Hare did most of the talking, letting Speirs form his own opinion. Bodie chipped in if looked-to for his personal knowledge of Andy. But both could tell that Speirs had been in touch with Murphy or Betty, to confirm their story.  
After a while, it appeared they had passed for soldiers-turned-hacks writing a feel good piece for a forces newsletter, and that Bodie knew Andy Strawbridge.  
Donning safety helmets and ear defenders, they got a tour of the drilling rig. Speirs handed over to other workers to explain their jobs as they went along. Hare was careful what he asked, to show that he knew security was vital.  
Bodie took shots of anything he was allowed to, getting into his role and appreciating Andy’s life on the rig. This was a community of men who worked hard in difficult conditions and respected each other. He could see it was like being back in a patrol, a troop, a regiment; each man with a set responsibility but working towards a common goal and looking out for everyone along the way.  
Both he and Andy, Bodie realised, had each swapped forces life for another that was similar.

 

As they went back into the control centre, Hare felt the time was right to mention Mallen Oil’s owner and asked what he was like.   
“Oh, Richard Mallen! Has very little interest as long as we’re risking our lives and making him money!” Speirs was heated about the matter. “But then he dropped in yesterday. Wanted to see the men workin’, he said; private helicopter disrupting our routine! Found him skulking round the sleeping quarters, nosy b...” He realised what he was saying and looked sharply at Hare who wasn’t even taking notes. “Scratch that, Mr Hare. Don’t want to upset the boss, now, do we?”  
“No problem. We’ve got one the same.” Hare grinned meaningfully at Bodie.  
Bodie agreed, grimly. “’Cept with ours, it’s just the risk-taking...”  
“Didn’t think journalism would be that dangerous, Mr Bodie.” Speirs took his seat at the instrument panel.  
The ‘photographer’ saw this as another opportunity to make their cover believable. Andy was likely to have spoken about Bodie, if Speirs was as friendly as Rachel had said. “It’s just ‘Bodie’, Mr Speirs; and even our job has its moments!”  
“And I’m ‘Ross’, to any mate of Andy’s.” Speirs seemed to relax even further.  
But Bodie kept on target. “Could I take a shot or two of Andy’s quarters?” he asked. “We want to tell the story from his angle. An ex soldier putting his skills to use in Civvy Street, that kind of thing.”   
“Okay. I need to get some work done,” Speirs agreed more readily, now. “And you’ve got a wee while ‘afore the chopper goes back. Some of the guys will still be havin’ breakfast. They’ll talk you through the daily routine, Mr Hare, and Mags will show Bodie Andy’s quarters. I’ll call...”  
“‘Mags’? You’ve got a woman rigger?”  
“Away with ye, man!” Speirs scoffed. “Magnus Mortensen is Andy’s opposite. He’s from Norway!”

 

The lanky blonde man who appeared soon after couldn’t have been more different to Andy. Bodie smiled inwardly at the contrast this colleague would make with his old friend. But they worked as one, sharing the same job by alternating every fortnight. This could be the man who got Bodie closer to the truth of what had happened to Andy.  
Mortensen took them to the canteen where Hare was served a delicious-smelling fry up. He settled down happily among a group of riggers to listen to their stories. Bodie was seriously disgruntled as he left. Especially as ‘Hare’ shot a brilliant smile in his direction when the first forkful of eggs and bacon was held aloft.  
Nevertheless, Bodie got down to work as he and Mortensen viewed the TV lounge and laundry and then wove through corridors and stairways to the shared quarters.

 

Andy and his opposite had a small room fitted out very much like a cabin on board a ship or submarine. Mortensen gave Bodie the limited tour. There was a tiny head* cum shower behind a door and a place for everything else in fitted lockers and shelves. Bodie noted with relief that each man had his own bunk and separate storage. Mortensen’s was lived-in right now; Andy’s was pristine and waiting.  
Aware the room was really made for one person at a time, Bodie made much of getting the right angle and lighting, spreading out the little equipment he had in his case. He was rewarded when Mortensen volunteered to go out, giving him more space to work in. The man left the door ajar, so Bodie had to work quickly.  
Keeping up the questions to Mortensen outside while searching Andy’s bed space, Bodie found all the lockers secure. If Mallen had been there, he’d either avoided them or had a key. Bodie risked leaving them. He didn’t have time for picking locks and if he couldn’t get in easily, then they were pretty safe for now.  
“So, how do you and Andy work your shifts, then?” Bodie asked as he felt around his friend’s bunk, mattress and pillows.  
“We work two weeks on, two weeks off. I come on duty by twelve hundred hours on Friday. Andy gives me a hand over then I get up to speed while he packs. We usually have an evening meal together before he flies out.”  
“And what time is that?” Bodie had come up with a flat half bottle of vodka from one side of the bed frame. He stashed it in his case and resumed the search.  
“The helicopter leaves at twenty one hundred,” Mortensen replied. “Unless the weather delays it.”  
“What, like fog or...?” Three packets of Ecstasy emerged one by one from the tight space between the mattress and wall. At least the blackmailer was being predictable and consistent.  
“Yes. This Friday was good flying but any bad weather will prevent it. Safety is the most important thing. But, wait an hour and it can all change out here.”  
“Shame I got me timing all wrong.” Bodie finished the clean up, looking around for any other hiding places. “Missed Andy by a whisker yesterday morning. Seems he’d left for his folks’ place, so I got in touch with Rachel.”  
“Weren’t you supposed to be visiting him...?”  
Mortensen knew, then. Bodie shut the case and picked up his camera. He poked his head around the door. “Yeah, but his dad’s been taken ill. Had to leave before I got there and we need to have this piece in by next week. Alright if I take a photo of the bathroom?”  
The man’s radio burst into life on his belt and he responded to it, nodding at Bodie in a puzzled way. These English! So strange what they wanted to know about!  
Bodie swept the washing and toilet facilities quickly. With very few places to hide something, it was cleared within seconds. Back in the room, he could hear Mortensen outside. He spoke rapidly in his own language or English through several conversations. It gave Bodie a while to look about, checking that everything was as it should be. His eyes lighted on a framed picture standing on the only shelf above Andy’s bed.  
With perfect timing, Bodie had picked it up just as Mortensen came back through the doorway.  
“Hey! What are you doing? That belongs to Andy!”  
“Yeah,” Bodie agreed. “I have the exact same one.” He handed it over, confident this would confirm his identity. Mortensen took it warily.  
Bodie kept going. “I’m centre front. Had to be, the other three were all bigger than me.”  
Mortensen looked at the photo that was always on Andy’s shelf. The dark man before him was certainly the one in the picture. Younger, in camouflage and smeared with face paint but, just as he’d said, front and centre with three comrades around him.  
Bodie went on smoothly. “You can tell Andy, can’t you? The others were patrol mates. Taffy was even bigger than Andy; and Keller... well, six foot three! I’m no midget but I stuck any of ‘em in front of me if we got into trouble!”  
Cowley’s words suddenly came back to him: ‘don’t over-egg the pudding, laddie. Talk, but not too much!’ Bodie paused to let the other man absorb his chat.  
Mortensen looked up. “So, where are the others now?”  
“Keller, can’t say.” Bodie tapped the side of his nose. “Need to know, if you get my drift.”  
“And this, what did you call him, ‘Taff’?”  
This was the man Andy had dinner with every other Friday night. Andy might have spoken about their late friend. Maybe it was another test. “Taff or Taffy. He answered to a lot worse!” Bodie genuinely sobered. “Bought it on a job in Israel. Big loss. He was a good mate...”  
Mortensen handed the photo back. “Sorry to bring it up,” he apologised.  
Bodie had the feeling that he’d passed muster as he replaced the picture. Mortensen’s radio blared again and he grabbed it. He couldn’t conceal the urgency of the message and was beckoning Bodie out of his quarters before the call was completed. As soon as they made the corridor outside, sirens began sounding all over the building and Bodie realised this was serious. Men began emerging from their rooms and ran, while still dressing, for the exits.  
Mortensen hustled Bodie ahead of him as they followed. “I have to go. There’s been an incident and I am needed. You must go to the canteen with your colleague. Wait there and Ross or I will come for you when we can!”

 

Bodie found his way back to the canteen where ‘Hare’ was virtually alone. He came over to the counter for a refill of his cup and became Doyle for a while. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Everyone just bailed!”  
“An ‘incident’, apparently. Think I’ve got time for some nosh?”  
Doyle looked at his watch. “Hour and a half ‘til the noon chopper. Even you’ve got time to eat before then!”  
As Bodie ate, the two swapped highlights of the last hour. Doyle hadn’t made any finds but he did have a lot of interesting thoughts on Mallen from the riggers he’d been with. And none of them would make the man ‘Employer of the Year’. In contrast, they only had high praise and respect for Andy Strawbridge.  
Bodie was massively proud of his old mate as he went to the counter for seconds. As he waited, his attention was drawn to the windows down one side of the room by a commotion coming from outside them. He went over to the windows and Doyle joined him. Suddenly a group of men appeared with others trailing behind. The focus for those both outside and in was the stretcher that four of them were carrying, hurrying as fast as the burden would allow.  
The CI5 men had seen and received knife and gunshot wounds, broken bones, bruising and much else besides in their time; but today they witnessed the reality of oil rigging’s massive dangers.  
The man on the stretcher was writhing in acute pain while trying to get at one of his legs. Another guy was running alongside, fighting to keep his mate’s hands off a graphic wound. The ‘incident’ had tattered the man’s safety boot and trousers, ripping into his leg and a large, tightly bound dressing was doing little to staunch the bleeding.  
The scene was past the window and gone before the partners turned to each other.  
“Blimey...” Bodie didn’t collect his second plate of breakfast.

 

A short while later, Mortensen reappeared. He was sweating and dirtied and clearly wanted to be elsewhere, but was polite while he updated the visitors. The injured man had a bad wound and possible fracture. He was under sedation and needed to be taken to hospital. The helicopter would be leaving shortly and Hare and Bodie had to go with it.  
Mortensen escorted them to the control room and spoke to Speirs before he headed off again.   
Speirs looked at his guests. He, too, was dirty and looking tired. “Well, sorry you had to see that, but it’s a reality out here.”  
“Can you say what happened?” ‘Hare’ the reporter was back. But Doyle, staunch defender of Joe Public, was right under the surface.  
Speirs shook his head.  
“How often does stuff like that go on?” Hare insisted.  
“No photos, no press...” Speirs sighed. “If only the public knew what it takes to get petrol in their precious motor cars...”  
“Let us tell ‘em, Speirs.”  
For a brief moment the man looked hopeful but shook his head again. “Mr Hare, you tell that story an’ we’ll all lose our jobs.” He sighed again before confiding, “Kickback from the drilling bit. We have blowout preventers but they’re just not good enough, sometimes.” Speirs shrugged directly at Bodie. “Andy’s got an idea for a better blowout preventer, but no-go with Mallen...”  
He was interrupted by a radio call and it was obvious the visit was over.  
“It’s been good to meet you Mr Hare; Bodie.” Speirs shook their hands and held Bodie’s eye for a second longer. “But no’ a good day for poor Malkie and he needs to get to the mainland. Safe journey, gentlemen.”  
The CI5 men started for the door where a man arrived to escort them.   
“Hold on a minute!”  
The visitors turned in the doorway and saw Speirs coming after them. The rig manager leant on the door frame and motioned Bodie back. Doyle hiked his brows but when his partner handed him the now heavier photographic case, he understood what was inside and indicated he’d go on with the crewman.  
Speirs was looking at his feet. Bodie closed the door and waited. Thinking that they’d been rumbled, he was preparing to front it out or maybe come clean as this guy seemed to know which way the wind blew.  
The manager straightened up and Bodie was surprised to see he was uneasy. “Look, you know Andy well; keep in regular touch, right?”  
“Yeah,” Bodie embellished. These last few days had become a test of how well he knew his old friend. They’d only recently met up again but had picked up as if eight years hadn’t passed. Bodie was determined it would continue, especially now. “We’ve always been tight. More like brothers than buddies.” And he was guiltily relieved that Doyle hadn’t heard that statement.  
“Aye.” Speirs was chewing his lip and studying Bodie. “Aye, then...” He came closer. “Then tell him to watch out. I’ve a feeling Mallen has it in for him.” Speirs looked meaningfully at Bodie who nodded in understanding.  
“Any idea why?”  
“Andy’s design is exactly what we need; it’d reduce the number of accidents like you’ve just seen. Mallen didn’ae like the idea at all. More investment to make it, an’ no drilling while we fit it. Would eat into his profit, that’s all he cares about. Look, I’m no keen on the guy myself, but he’s the boss. Know what I mean?”  
“Safe with me, mate. And what might Mallen possibly do about it...?” Bodie murmured.  
Speirs looked around to make sure they weren’t overheard before confiding, “He’s got friends who aren’t so ‘respectable’ and money to pay ‘em. Tales of threats and beatings but no one ‘sees’ anythin’.” He raised his brows for emphasis.  
“Yeah, I get it,” simmered Bodie. “I’ll catch up with Andy as soon as.”  
The manager signed off with, “And I’ll keep an eye when he’s here. A good man is Andy, even for a Sassenach!”  
“Cheers.” Bodie swung out of the door. Speirs had just added to their suspicions; now Mallen Oil’s owner was the next target.  
Outside, the noise and whipping wind echoed his anger as he made his way to the helipad. Doyle and the others were waiting on board and Bodie had the routine of putting on a lifejacket, headset and strapping in, to compose himself before takeoff.  
During the flight back the partners were only able to exchange scraps of what had just passed, on Doyle’s notepad. It was in the drive back to the cottage that they discussed it and a seething Bodie told all, apart from his brotherly comment about Andy Strawbridge. 

\--oo0oo-- 

“Oh, you’re back, then.” Fiona McGregor was at her front door studying the men with her sharp eyes. “Jamie’s been.”  
“Jamie?” Doyle questioned. Having dumped his things indoors he stood to shield Bodie, labouring under his, from the inquisitive neighbour.  
“James, the electrician. My great nephew. He’s repaired the phone and you’d better get to it. It’s been ringing on the hour, every hour, since!”  
Bodie reappeared, hearing the final sentence. “Thanks, Mrs McGregor. We’ll see it doesn’t disturb you again,” he hustled, pulling his partner inside their cottage. “Save us from nosy old bats with nothing better to do!” Bodie finished, storming through the living room.  
Although he’d heard Bodie’s disturbed sleep that morning, Doyle was getting tired of him blowing hot and cold. “Bodie, the old girl may be a bit over-interested but you can’t blame her. We’re strangers and she obviously thinks the sun shines out of Andy’s backside.”  
The bigger man halted, heaved his shoulders up then down with an enormous in and out-breath. He dropped his head. Doyle knew he wasn’t counting to ten, Bodie didn’t do anger management. Bodie turned slowly and walked back, eyes still on the floor. The voice was quiet and clipped, as if talking to a stubborn child. “So I’ll buy her flowers to say sorry. Fewer people involved in this the better... less collateral.”  
The potential clash was interrupted by the phone ringing and Bodie dove for it. He didn’t look at his partner as he gave Rachel brief highlights of their day. He finished by saying that Doyle would explain the rest and handed the receiver over. “Going for some fresh air. Do your thing, Detective Constable.”  
“Hi, Rachel.” Doyle watched Bodie drift back outdoors as if they hadn’t had enough North Sea air already. He looked like a sleepwalker.  
Doyle spent some time trying to calm the woman, explaining some facts while leaving out the ones she didn’t need to know. But he was firm in advising her not to trust Andy’s boss or anyone to do with him, to go somewhere safe and that he was sure they would find Andy soon.  
Doyle put the phone down with a deep sense of admiration for the resilient women that partnered their type of man. And he was surprised that Bodie had been so clinical with her. He looked through the window at his friend sitting on a wall in the afternoon’s glow and recalled the comment about collateral damage. Maybe he was trying to protect Rachel in his own way. Bodie knew best, they were his friends.  
But what was going on in Bodie’s own head was just as worrying. This did seem to be something from the past. Doyle knew he’d need to keep a close eye as he could imagine him taking off after his mate, alone. And the outcome of that could be even more uncertain.

 

Outside, Bodie raised his face to the last brightness of the day and shut his eyes. What to do? The female factor was getting too close for comfort. Their keeping to the ‘need to know’ was sensible when it came to Andy’s disappearance, but his not telling Doyle about Claire was more for personal reasons.  
And in CI5 you didn’t have room for personal reasons. Could spoil your aim, take away your edge. Could also give you an edge. A cutting edge, Bodie had once pointed out on a similar occasion. That time he’d confided very little and only when pushed by Doyle. Open-minded, open-handed, heart-sleeve-wearing Doyle; how he admired and envied him, sometimes. Bodie had tried being like that and look where it’d got him.  
If he told Doyle about Claire, how much and what to say? Apart from friends at that time, only his past masters and Cowley were aware. They had to keep it close for security reasons but he should have told Doyle years ago. He was his partner, his friend.  
Eight years - an intelligence breach was surely minimal, now. And Ray should know who Claire really was; who Bodie once was.  
Bodie brought out his wallet, fingers hovering over a slot at the back. At first it had been too raw. Grief mixed with anger at his own controllers drove him on, blanking out everything but the daily grind and getting accepted into CI5.  
Partnered with Doyle, gradually the golly grew on Bodie and he came to trust him. And vice versa, Bodie had discovered that Doyle had lost a partner when he was a copper. ‘Now how would you feel about that?’ he’d yelled. Definitely not the moment to reply with your own tale of loss.  
Yeah, Bodie had lost army buddies and a lover, to Krivas. His Mam, too. Girlfriends he’d allowed to get too close had been caught in the crossfire of his life. But a wife, as briefly as she was, being taken from him in such circumstances, was different. Yet as the years went by and they became close friends, their life in the other’s hands, there must have been an opportunity to tell Doyle.  
Bodie looked back to the cottage and just caught a denim shirt topped with curls, sliding out of view at the window.  
Of course he’d been watching. It was what they did, keep an eye on each other. Doyle didn’t deserve this but could Bodie tell him, now? He was such an emotional bugger; he’d be hurt that it had been a secret for so long. Bodie didn’t know if he could handle it right now, either. He needed to keep focused on Andy. And if he started telling Doyle, Bodie knew it would all come out. Every painful memory of those drawn out months before he joined CI5.  
At the worst moment, Andy had shocked Bodie into decisive action. Not the kind his friend intended, but Bodie had needed to distance himself from everyone involved, good or ill. Then Statham caught Bodie at the critical point in that downward spiral and Cowley drew him back to relative safety, Bodie silently begrudging every inch and meaning to give CI5 a few months at most.  
But Ray, Ray had been the one who finally saved Bodie from himself without realising it or receiving any thanks. Because Bodie was so numb at that time, he’d been just about existing. That was another confession which would need to come out.  
Bodie swallowed hard and closed the wallet. Not yet. Sometime, but not now. He needed that cutting edge.

 

From upstairs, Doyle studied his partner as he returned to the cottage. He was pale, blinking in the stiff breeze and hunched into his coat. Bodie disappeared from sight and then called out, over-cheerily, from the kitchen below about tea and toast.  
Doyle had to smile; at least the walking stomach was still intact. But why did Bodie have to keep everything inside? Couldn’t he let Doyle in, occasionally?

\--oo0oo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Maritime word for the toilet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy makes an unexpected stand

Achilles’ Heel

A weakness, in spite of your strength, can lead to your downfall. But it also takes a lot of strength to allow yourself to be vulnerable.

Chapter 4

From the makeshift bed Andy Strawbridge blinked up at the chink of blue sky and resigned himself not to seeing its full expanse again in the way you could from the rig or his cottage. Or to feel the bite of the wind, rain or snow. The sun, when it did appear in this area, was special - warm and bright, glinting off the sea and turning the hills into a patchwork of muted colours. That would be missed, too.  
Andy shut his aching eyes and tried to think clearly around the fog of whatever they’d doped him with. His weakness had given these people leverage and they’d left a trail of false evidence through his life which would ruin him.  
He’d taken their beatings and questioning, in between giving them the run around. He’d bought himself and Bodie some time but now they’d left him with the means to carry on what they’d begun. Resisting them, he’d held out into a third day. But Andy was long out of practice for much more punishment and now came the crunch. Fight back or submit?  
However strong, whatever his training, instinct, his morals told him, he no longer had the urge to break out of this stupor, let alone climb up to that hole in the roof and widen it to escape. His head was thumping; he was battered, cold and tired. Andy thought he’d left this feeling behind with the regiment and now he couldn’t fight anymore. He had no reason to.  
But he could set up one last act of sabotage.  
Better that it ended now. This, the past, the drinking. The trouble he’d put others to. Especially Rachel, she’d taken enough. She could find a better partner and not be disappointed and unappreciated. He pictured Rachel, the times they’d been through together, good and bad. ‘You are what you are, Andy,’ she’d told him, as she packed her bags. ‘I can’t do any more.’ But she was still there, despite his moods and drinking. Maybe there’d been a chance for them after all.  
No, it was all gone now. There’d be no going back.  
Andy reached for one of the bottles. He was going to make sure these bastards didn’t get what they wanted. But he was sorry that the plans, which could have made such a difference to the men he worked with, wouldn’t happen until there was a bigger push for safer systems on the rigs.  
“It’s not very good whisky, you cheapskates!” he yelled at the door. “But it’ll do its job. You want me plastered? Well, I’ll go along with that. Just be careful what you wish for!” The man added blankly to himself, “I’ll make sure your little scheme backfires.”  
He hesitated and then took a swig. The liquid tasted bitter and burned in his reluctant throat but he took another and another.

 

“Mr Mallen? He’s started.”  
“Good. Keep an eye on him, Higgs. Let me know when he’s plenty drunk and we’ll have another go.”  
“Yessir.”  
The thickset guard returned to his post outside the locked room. He peered through the grille and could just see his captive, hunkered into a corner. For the few moments he watched, the up and down motion of a scotch bottle was steady and methodical.  
Higgs grinned to himself as he sat down and opened a newspaper. This was a completely different way of getting what they wanted.  
Just menacing people usually worked. If not, a good beating did the trick with the more stubborn businessmen that his boss wanted to ‘persuade’ and Mr Mallen didn’t even need to be involved. The local oil industry knew him to be a hard man and there were whispers of his dodgy dealings but, to the public eye, his hands were clean.  
That assistant of his was behind most of the goings-on but Sykes wasn’t up to getting his hands dirty, Mr Mallen knew that. Higgs drew himself up in the chair with pride. He and his fellow minder, Scottie, were the mechanics of the outfit. It was their work that the boss really appreciated when they brought another man around to his way of thinking.  
But in this case, he realised, the boss was being very clever. This guy was really tough. Not just physically big and strong but strong-minded, too. Until it came to booze, it seemed. Yeah, this was going to be a walk in the park. Maybe he’d be back home in time for his Gran’s birthday, see her open her presents.  
A voice from the room caught Higgs’ attention and he went to see what the prisoner was up to. Looking in, he could make out the man’s back as he stood to one side, raising the bottle and making toasts.  
“Well, Taffy.” The voice was still quite clear, considering the bottle was already half empty. “Won’t be long, son. This one’s for you, from me. Make sure you set ‘em up for when I get there.” A slug went down.  
“Bodie, mate.” The bottle was flourished. “You may not turn up ‘til this is over, but I tried my best.” He drank again. “Agh! Who am I kidding? You won’t bother coming for me. Me! The so-called friend who told you to go stew in your own self pity when you lost her.” This thought seemed to warrant a longer draught of whisky and Higgs heard some spilled on the floor. “You went AWOL, then; seems only fair you’re doing the same, now.” The unseen people were saluted again.  
“And you, Keller. Stupid git! Money did it for you, eh? You were good, Jimbo. Shame you’re not, now. We all were, once...”  
A few steps brought the figure to the far wall and he began kicking it, booting harder for every significant word that followed. “We dared and we may have won for others, but not... for... us!” Strawbridge swivelled, fairly skilfully for his state, leaned back against the offending stonework and slid heavily to a half squat.  
Higgs drew back, knowing their prisoner wasn’t yet ready for Mr Mallen. He found it funny that the man was talking to invisible mates, that he thought one might come to rescue him and he was going to be celebrating his escape. Higgs was sure that nobody would miss this mess of a man. Besides, with Scottie and he as jailers, there wasn’t anyone who’d get through, was there?  
Inside the room Andy Strawbridge was ‘beasting’* himself, using the stress position so beloved of a particularly sadistic instructor who’d tortured them through evade and capture training; the building agony in his legs helping him concentrate on the task at hand. Sgt. Law had done his job well. His protégé even drank to the old bastard.

 

Half an hour later, Higgs checked the room again. Pressing his face to the bars, he could hear Strawbridge humming. It gradually became a tune and then a gravelly rendition of ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’. Higgs smirked at the contrast between the sizeable singer and his sentimental choice.  
Little did Higgs appreciate that his prisoner was a naturally reserved man and that the song had usually appeared whenever he’d got totally smashed in his twenties. In those days, he’d held his drink better than his friends mostly due to his sheer size. But, at the point where Andy started to sing his ironic signature tune, Taffy and Bodie would have known it was high time to point their friend to his bed, before he became morose and told them that he ‘loved them’.  
But Taffy was dead and Bodie still on the trail. Nobody here could read the behaviour and Andy certainly had no love for these people.  
By then, the singing was loud and raucous. Mallen appeared in the passage with his assistant close behind. Scottie brought up the rear and Higgs stepped aside so the boss could speak to their captive.  
“Strawbridge?”  
“Who’s ‘at?”  
“Never you mind. Are you ready to talk to me, now?”  
“What about?”  
“You discussed this with my associates, earlier. The blowout preventer.”  
“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”  
“Strawbridge...! Andy! Fair enough, it’s your idea, but it makes no difference who does it. Just tell me where the plans are.”  
“Not likely! I’ll sort it. Make sure it’s done prop’ly.”  
“I thought you were a team player, Andy? Come on, I’ll finance it and give you a cut of the proceeds.”  
“No thanks. Not ‘bout money, it’s ‘bout the men.”  
“Of course it is. I’m as concerned about them, as you are.”  
“Yeah, right! So ‘concerned’ that you’re keepin’ me here ‘til you get the plans off me!”  
“I know it might look that way, but if you’d just be sensible and tell me where they are, we can all go home and forget this unpleasantness.”  
“Unpleasantness? Ha!” Andy scoffed, his voice nearing the door.  
Mallen stepped back, unwilling to be identified.  
“I’ll show you ‘unpleasantness’...” came from very near the grille in a tone that sent shivers through Mallen’s spineless assistant.  
Strawbridge was heard scuffing his way back across the dirt floor. Suddenly there was a smashing sound and the men outside instinctively drew back as splintered glass erupted through the holes.  
“Whoops!” the man inside giggled. “Now look what you made me do. I’ll have to start on ‘nother bottle... Don’t mind if I do,” Andy politely replied to himself.  
“Give him another half hour then we’ll try again. This is going to take longer than I thought.” Mallen stalked back to the more comfortable surroundings of his plush car, leaving the barn to his lackeys.  
“Yeah, you shove off ‘mate’! I have some serious drinkin’ an’ thinkin’ to do,” the prisoner finished.

 

There were two more bottles left and Andy made himself drink hard and fast, just as they’d force-fed him, two days earlier.  
After a while, Higgs called Scottie, anxious that the drinker didn’t become unconscious. They agreed that they really shouldn’t have put all the whisky in the cell at once, and needed to get one back. Mallen was summoned from his BMW where he’d been trying to relax with some classical music and the henchmen went into the captive’s cell. But when they moved forward to try and stop Strawbridge drinking, he’d shown them what his nemesis could do.  
The ex special forces soldier held inside him all the rage of battles and loss, the private pain of a ruined relationship, of watching a father slowly dying, and anger at the oil industry. Big, tough guys like him weren’t supposed to feel, to hurt. They weren’t supposed to fail at anything. People saw the heroism and thought you were invincible, so tough men kept it together and didn’t put it into words.  
But the legend was wrong. There was only so much even the toughest man could suck up. Eventually, everything could spill out.  
This final bender released everything within Andy. It bundled all his demons into one vast, violent tirade of self-abuse. But this was no pointless ending. He fully intended that no one would get anything from his mind or body, ever again.  
Scottie tried to snatch the remaining bottle but, unable to get near, he and Higgs became astonished onlookers as the big man held them at bay. At first, they waited for the outburst to pass, but none of them had reckoned on the force that was Andy Strawbridge in drink. When it was clear they couldn’t get control of him, they had to let the drinker grind himself to a halt. The jailers backed out of the room and locked him in again, grateful not to be the man they held.  
Over the next hour they watched as he drank and stormed, drank and shouted, drank and beat himself thoroughly to a pulp. They’d not seen anything like it. Strawbridge threw himself around and onto the floor, time and again. The walls were beaten with his fists and feet. The smashed bottle cut him as he fell. Just when they thought he was spent and their chance had come, the man revived to start again.  
This time he gave the wall a repeated Glasgow kiss, exchanging pain for pain until he fell to the floor, out cold.

 

Andy came round when icy water was thrown in his face. An even colder gun barrel was pressed to his temple and a blinding light pierced his gloom. The voice that had been outside the door was now up close and holding him by the shirt collar.  
“Enough of this. I’ve been a patient man, but you will tell me about the blowout preventer. Now!”  
The stricken man glared through a haze of blood-gummed and swollen eyes, recognising the company executive. “Mallen! S’you behind this, is it? Sorry, ‘fraid I’ll have to refuse.”  
“Tell me or I’ll be forced to use this gun! Where are the plans?”  
“You’ve never fired a thing in your life, ‘cept people,” Andy giggled. “Make it a good ‘un, mate. Don’t want me alive to identify you.”  
“Are you telling me you’d rather die than give me the design?”  
“‘S’right! ‘S’all in me ‘ead. I’ll just keep it there, if it’s all the same t’you...” Andy slurred and blacked out again.  
The frustrated boss dropped the man to the floor and nodded to his henchmen. “Get him over there and mind that he doesn’t injure himself any more. I want that information and it looks like he’s the only one that knows it.” He rose and looked disgustedly at the prisoner as he was hauled with difficulty to a pile of sacking. “Come on Sykes, we’ll get hold of his girlfriend. That should make him talk. I wanted to make it look natural, but if booze won’t work we’ll have to use her and the Pentothal.”

\--oo0oo--

 

“Bodie...” Doyle had stopped behind the cover of some bushes. As his partner came quietly alongside he nudged him, nodding ahead.  
The stone barn was half derelict, walls crumbling and part of the roof gone. But one end had been spared and its empty windows were boarded up. A flash four wheel drive was on the far side and there were signs of activity with overgrown plants trampled, forming paths.  
They’d been methodically working their way through a list of buildings and land which the helpful locals had steered them towards. During a second evening in the village pub, the partners had confirmed Speir’s warning - no one around here liked Mallen Oil’s owner. He provided a healthy number of jobs in these parts, so speaking out against him was obviously uncomfortable for some. But a few had no loyalties and were quite willing to dish the dirt in exchange for their drink of choice.  
The upshot had narrowed down the day’s focus, but it was already afternoon and both were growing concerned that they’d not yet come anywhere near finding Andy.  
Now they were still, a voice could be heard. Then came the unmistakable sounds of an RT conversation. Bodie looked at Doyle victoriously, convinced they’d found the right location at last. Suddenly, each had to stifle his breathing and crouch down when a figure appeared.  
The man signed off, pocketed the radio and lit up a cigarette. Standing still in the hush, they could hear his drawing and exhaling the smoke which drifted downwind to them. For some uncomfortable minutes, the cigarette was lingered over while the CI5 men’s leg muscles began to cramp in their confinement.  
At long last, the man called out to someone inside and they heard a motorbike start up. Under the noise, Doyle held up one finger to Bodie then questioningly wiggled two more. Bodie replied by pointing at the building and they scuttled closer.  
As the motorcyclist roared away, Bodie threw back a bloodthirsty grin, whispering, “Two left. One each. Race ya!”  
Doyle had to move quickly to keep up with his partner as he phased his progress to the building. Then Bodie made some signals: ‘You go that way, I’ll go this’. There was no time to debate it with him, he was gone and Doyle groaned inwardly.  
Making his own sweep around one side, he couldn’t help thinking that Bodie was damn good and in his element, here, but this could be a dangerous mix when a personal vendetta was included. Doyle felt an unusual nervousness as he moved. He trusted him with his life but Bodie could very easily become a loose cannon, right here and now. It had happened before. And then, as now, Doyle could be under fire too and not just from their quarry.  
Arriving by the vehicle, to his relief, he found Bodie already there. They mutely exchanged information. Neither had seen anyone else, the end windows were all boarded up and this was the only vehicle.  
At this, Doyle’s jacket was tugged. Bodie was pointing at the four-by-four’s wing. In the dust dulling its bodywork were more deliberate marks. The ex soldier motioned three fingers, copying the shaky swipe beneath. He mouthed ‘danger’ and Doyle marvelled, yet again, at the staying power of Bodie’s friend in this deepening situation.  
Doyle nodded curtly, no longer doubting anything that was happening. This was serious, now. Inside this building they would probably find Andy Strawbridge and whoever had taken him.  
He trusted that the man’s toughness had held out. Doyle feared for Bodie’s own spirit, if it hadn’t. 

 

The last room. They’d reached the last one in their stealthy search through this building, finding food and a couple of sleeping bags but no sign of Andy or whoever was there.  
In front of them was the only decent door in this half wrecked place, the only one bolted and locked. Peering in through the bars, they could make nothing out in the dark beyond. The padlock was soon picked and they undid the fastenings quietly. Without hesitation, Bodie grabbed the latch and was about to open up were it not for Doyle’s sudden grip on his arm. Bodie jerked his head in agreement and joined Doyle in raising his side arm for a more controlled entrance.  
The heavy door swung inward. No one was hiding behind.  
Doyle dropped to a crouch in the opening while Bodie flattened against the door, sweeping with his gun. After a pause with no comeback they risked probing with a torch. There was no one in the room. Doyle stood, feet crunching on the floor. He looked down and saw a shower of broken glass, grateful that he hadn’t knelt or needed to throw himself full length. Bodie was following the trail with his torch. They looked at each other, puzzled.  
Considering what to do next, Doyle thought better of actually asking. As Bodie began slowly pacing into the room you could feel the expectation draining from him and hear it in the hollow dimness as he finally sounded defeated.  
“I have no idea what to do now.” Bodie’s words hung as mist in the freezing air.  
Conscious they were in a dead end, Doyle checked the corridor. If Andy wasn’t here, they should move on. He tried a quiet suggestion. “Mallen’s offices?”  
Bodie didn’t reply, suddenly turning on a sixpence. Standing out in the torchlight, his eyes were alert and quartering the room. “He’s been here.”  
“What?” Doyle whispered, unable to sense what his partner had. “How’d you...?”  
“Oh, no. No, no, no...” Bodie lunged for the near wall, torch beam picking out a pile of sacking. He threw himself to his knees, the torch to the floor and began working his hands across the pile.  
“Bodie?”  
He was pulling out a muscular arm. “I’d know this bloody tattoo anywhere,” Bodie grunted, tearing the rags of a sleeve away. “Blade, flames, motto an’ all!” As he sat back on his heels, his voice became hopeless again. “Oh, no...”  
Doyle feared the worst. With no choice, he re-checked the corridor and went to Bodie’s aid. He stood over him, shining the torch and could immediately see why his partner despaired.  
Andy Strawbridge had been there for some time - filthy, beaten bloody, and lying in a distorted heap.  
Doyle’s heart sank. It was over, then. 

 

\--oo0oo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The British Military Open Dictionary defines ‘beasting’ as: ‘a group or individuals are pushed to their limits or to see how far they go before they jack (‘jack it in’ or give up). Not always nice to watch and a real bummer if you are the beastee. One reason for beasting is to make sure that the person or group will be able to carry out a harder than usual task and it sorts the men from the boys. A group that has been beasted and survived will have developed a comradeship between them, morale will be high. Beasting or to beast is probably not PC in the Forces anymore.’ Ref: www.arrse.co.uk/wiki/Beasting.
> 
>  
> 
> Part of this chapter was inspired by song lyrics from ‘Achilles’ Heel’ by Toploader:  
> Goodbye to the sky  
> I know I can’t fly but I feel love  
> Do you know how I feel?  
> You are my Achilles’ Heel  
> Hello to below  
> I feel love flow like a river flow  
> You and I standing still  
> You are my Achilles’ Heel


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men are reminded what makes each of them both strong and vulnerable.

Achilles’ Heel

A weakness, in spite of your strength, can lead to your downfall. But it also takes a lot of strength to allow yourself to be vulnerable.

Chapter 5

 

And then, suddenly, it wasn’t over.  
“Come on! Don’t you dare peg out on me! Don’t you dare!” Bodie hissed through gritted teeth, shaking the beaten man by his collar. “I’ve lost too many. Come on, Bridgie!”  
He let him go, none too carefully, and began rubbing a fist against the body’s breastbone.  
“Bodie, take it easy!” Doyle warned, getting down beside the pair. He searched out the heavy wrist and took a pulse. There was nothing to feel. He went to the man’s neck, having to probe and wait for the beat that he feared wouldn’t come.  
Bodie let off a little but was still anxiously pressing his knuckles into the tender area of Andy’s chest, willing a reaction from him. He shot a fleeting glance at Doyle who could have sworn he saw tears in his friend’s eyes. “Is he...?”  
“No. It’s slow but there. He’s very cold, that probably kept him going. This too.” Doyle moved an empty bottle away. “Seen it before with rough-sleepers...”  
Not keen to pursue this topic with Bodie so volatile, Doyle looked at the windows. “Check him over and I’ll get some of that boarding off, give us more light.”  
Bodie quickly shrugged off a small backpack and gestured for the other; Doyle removed his and handed it over. Carrying it had been strange, not something he was used to although Bodie, as usual, had done it before in his previous roles. Doyle had copied his partner, tucking the hand gun into his waistband for quick access. And Bodie’s insistence that they’d need the backpacks’ contents made sense now, as the man dove into his to retrieve a first aid kit.  
Doyle pushed up using his partner’s shoulder and scooted from the room, figuring he’d give Bodie a bit of space.  
Doyle also wanted a pause. They’d saved each other countless times over the years and he was struck that he couldn’t recall this kind of emotion from Bodie in any of their scrapes. Perhaps Doyle had been too out of it or relieved, to notice. And Bodie hid his feelings deeply, that Doyle was constant witness to. This time, it might be clearer for Bodie. He’d said it: he’d lost many. Having been as close to Andy as he was now to Doyle, perhaps losing either of them could be the one too many.

 

In the next room, Doyle checked through the broken wall and hopped outside. He began on the boarding, wondering why Andy hadn’t tried. He’d obviously been guarded and beaten, but even if plied with booze a man of his build and history would surely have tried to escape. Bodie had said he would. It didn’t seem right, somehow.  
By levering with the strongest tool in his Swiss Army knife, some boards began to give. Doyle used his hands and braced a foot against the wall and first one then another splintered or prised away from the old stone. Gradually part of the window appeared, revealing the others inside. Bodie was patting Andy down, checking for injuries. Doyle had just reckoned the hole was big enough when he caught another movement inside the room.  
The noise he’d made had masked the approach of a figure. Doyle saw the newcomer’s wide stance, the double-handed grip on a dully gleaming pistol and the way it was trained on Bodie who had stopped triage and was raising his hands.  
“No, you don’t.” Doyle’s gun was fast out of his waistband, drawing the gunman’s attention from those on the floor. The man hesitated but kept his weapon on Bodie. Knows how to engage and shoot but doesn’t look all that confident, Doyle assessed. But still his own heartbeat was loud in his ears. “Just hand it to my mate nice and slowly,” he advised.  
The man, younger than them and solidly built with an aggressive expression, flicked his eyes between the partners, seemingly undecided.  
Can act the part but not so used to being challenged – dangerous, Doyle thought.  
Bodie was rising slowly, his eyes on the pistol. He began to reach for it but the gunman only re-aimed and his finger was tight on the trigger.  
Doyle couldn’t chance it. He bellowed, “Down!” and let off three shots over Bodie’s instantly hunkered form. They clustered into the other man’s chest, throwing him back against the far wall as his gun pumped once at the floor and clattered down.  
Doyle scrambled through the opening and moved quickly to the spread-eagled body. Never one to take a life lightly, especially a man so obviously underprepared, he was sorry that he’d had to shoot to kill. Despite all these years it was no easier.  
He put a hand back on Bodie’s shoulder as he passed - it’s okay, another of the nine lives saved. Twice over. And in the end it didn’t matter who saved who or how many times, they were a solid partnership. Both knew what it meant.  
“Fffff...” Bodie’s out breath and closed eyes expressed the relief.  
“Precisely.” Doyle picked up the gun and made it safe then toed the attacker, establishing his exact level of dead before frisking the body.  
He’d been right. The contents of his wallet announced Alan Higgs to be an ordinary citizen clearly, but one who was in the dodgy employ of Richard Mallen. A rich man’s pet muscle, tooled-up but lacking the skills, doing the dirty work and taking the consequences. Doyle felt sick at the waste. He covered the young man’s face and left the body in a dignified position.  
“Amateur.” Bodie apparently dismissed the attack as he selected something from the first aid kit, but he knew how close that had been. “Ray, come and hold him. He’s not gonna like this.” And there was Bodie’s bond and thanks: using his partner’s first name in the way only he could.  
Doyle returned, looking their sizable patient up and down. “How?”  
“Well, just hold him down.”  
“Exactly. How?”  
Doyle settled for Andy’s shoulders and watched Bodie remove the stopper from a small bottle. Not sure what to expect, he was surprised when it was simply held under Andy’s nose. Seconds later, the effect was even more surprising. Andy took a huge breath, suddenly reviving and snapped his head away from the stimulus.  
“Neck’s alright, then.” Bodie dryly commented.  
Doyle bore downward as the man bucked under his restraint. “Flippin’ hell! What is that?” He leant harder as Bodie waved the vial once more in Andy’s face.  
“Smelling salts,” Bodie told him. “Old fashioned, but the business if you need a lift. Some of the guys relied on uppers. Slippery slope,” he grimaced. “We got through on strong black coffee and this stuff if we were really knackered.”  
Bodie sat back, satisfied with the activity and moaning coming from Andy, and recapped the bottle. He handed it to Doyle.”Knew he’d have some in his kit.”  
Reunited, they got to work.

 

“Oh for Chrissakes! Am I still here?”  
“Yep, ‘fraid so.”  
“Was hoping I was a goner... ‘Cause if I’m living, this pain is not worth it!” Strawbridge groaned.  
“Come on, Bridget!” Bodie goaded, knowing this insult would get a more useful reaction.  
“What did you call me? You... ugly Scouser.” Andy growled, opening one eye at his former comrade.  
Bodie was wiping his friend’s face with a damp cloth, the better to see what the damage was. He cracked a classic grin.  
From being down and out, Andy suddenly felt that same relief which had punctuated their forces days. Beyond Bodie, a curly haired man was supplying the water from a canteen and the patient spied both, his other eye only a slit. He couldn’t quite believe the welcome sight of someone he trusted, plus another who was clearly as familiar as Bodie with this kind of situation.  
“That’s the spirit, mate.” Bodie paused from his ministrations and scooped up the heavy head. “Thought that’d get your attention. Here, have some of this.”  
The canteen was passed and put to Andy’s puffy lips. He winced then gulped thirstily and tried to grab it.  
Bodie took it away. “Hey, take it easy, you’re going to choke. Think you can sit up?”  
Andy raised a shaky arm. The unknown man gripped him and pulled cautiously. Obviously surprised by the weight of the patient, his helper had to half stand to counterbalance and then Bodie was in behind, propping him up.  
“Andrew Strawbridge, henceforth to be known as ‘Andy’, ‘Bridgie’ or ‘you great fat lump’, allow me to present Ray Doyle, nursemaid of the highest calibre!” Bodie advised, cheerfully.  
“Hello, Andy.” Doyle squeezed his forearm. “Pleased to meet you, at last.”  
“Ray... you’re this daft egit’s partner.” Andy gestured at Bodie, who scowled dramatically.  
“Yeah, it’s been my misfortune for more years than I care to remember. We need to compare notes, sometime.” Doyle eased off his hold as Bodie re-offered the water.  
The partners watched Andy drink and exchanged a look over his head before they busied themselves with the next concerns.  
“How many more, Andy, apart from him?” Doyle hiked his thumb at the man he’d shot.  
“There were three or four. Another guard and two suits, I think. One is Mallen, Richard Mallen. He owns the company,” he said, bitterly. “Not seen him since I put on my little display.”  
Doyle made for the door. “I’ll go check that our little shoot out hasn’t drawn unwelcome attention.”

 

Returning cautiously along the corridor, Doyle held his gun in a double grip. He hadn’t heard the motorbike return but the dead guy could have radioed before tackling them. And the shots would have carried. Thug number two could be on his way back.  
For now, Doyle could only sense his careful footsteps on the earthen floor. Rechecking the other rooms as he retraced, they were still clear. Exiting, he flattened himself against the outside wall, scanned the surroundings and then took cover at the kidnapper’s vehicle. An idea occurred and, as he reached into his back pocket, he grinned evilly.  
“Well sunshine,” he mumbled, piercing a nearside tyre with the knife, “Having pockets may ruin the line of your suits but jeans win for me, every time.”  
Doyle had just started on an offside wheel when the familiar click of a safety catch told him that he had company and not friendly company, either. A split second later, he dove back to the car’s nearside as a bullet ruined its bodywork just inches from where his head had been.  
Panting with the sudden adrenaline rush, the CI5 man checked his back, cautious that he may be approached from behind.  
A second shot pinged beneath the high-riding vehicle, showering Doyle’s Kickers in soil. That was it! He’d been buying this brand of boot since they came out in 1975, it was the one concession he made to any kind of fashion trend. Doyle was known for his love of them and wore each pair to pieces. Now having these brand new ones dirtied through no fault of his own was too much!  
Doyle darted, bent double, for the cover of the engine. It was time to turn the tables on this would-be heavy and Doyle was betting he’d be no more competent than his mate, now dead on the floor of Andy’s cell.  
“Give it up!” he shouted. “You really have no idea who you’re dealing with!”  
Doyle got out a spare magazine and clamped it in his teeth. Some of Bodie’s habits were worth taking on board.

 

Meanwhile Andy rested heavily against his friend, teeth chattering in cold and withdrawal. Bodie unselfconsciously opened his own jacket, wrapped himself around the other man and rubbed his body to stimulate some circulation.  
“Blimey! You that pleased to see me?”  
“Shut up! You know what we were taught: ‘shared bodily warmth, Trooper Strawbridge’. Anyway, don’t get to practice it much these days in the wilderness of London.”  
“You’re not doing it quite the way we used to.”  
“Andy, if you seriously think I’m going to get us both in the buff to do it properly, you’re going to be a long time waiting! Anyway, can’t give poor old Doyle a shock like that, he’ll think I’ve turned.”  
“Thought the big bad city might’ve changed you, mate.”  
“Oi! I have my name on a nice warm woman when I get home. Scotland’s so flaming cold, I’m going to need it. ‘Sides, don’t fancy you much. You stink.””  
Andy chuckled at the trading of insults. Looking at the body across the room, he grew more serious. “Bloody hell, Bodie, am I glad to see you two.”  
“Yeah, yeah; save it for later,” Bodie fussed. “Got to get out of here, yet. Let’s have a look at you, then.”  
Andy felt himself released and the pile of sacking stuffed behind him. He slumped back. Watching Bodie in action was so familiar, he could have laughed out loud if his lip hadn’t threatened to split further. He settled for more slurps of water as the main wound on his face was cleaned with something that stung.  
Cursing, Bodie had to stem fresh and determined bleeding from the eyebrow while he searched in the kit. “Come on, make yourself useful,” he moaned. “Wash your hands, will you? I need your help for a change.”  
He ripped open a packet with his teeth. The wound closures might not be sterile by the time they made it onto Andy’s face, but the niceties could wait.  
Andy’s hands shook feverishly as he rinsed them in water. He raised one and Bodie guided the trembling fingers to press the deep gash. “Ohh, me flamin’ head!” the man groaned.  
Glancing at the empty bottle, Bodie was getting a better idea of what had happened but didn’t ask as he got on with more important matters.  
Andy had seen Bodie’s glance. As the steristrips were applied, he addressed ‘the elephant in the room’ himself. “I didn’t want to... but I didn’t see an alternative. They’ve fitted me up. Rache’ has gone... I’m down at the bottom, so I thought I’d do it properly.”  
“Stop talking like that!” Bodie snapped, eyes ablaze.  
Andy searched his friend’s face. “C’mon, Bodie. You know what I mean. Did most of this myself. Nutted the wall...” He drew in a sharp breath as the rest of his head was checked over.  
Bodie had found the tender lump at the back of Andy’s skull, received three days before. Yeah, he knew exactly where Andy was right now. Sensible that the man was baring his soul, he deflected in time honoured manner. “Knock any sense in, did it?”  
Andy answered in the same vein, trying to push the probing fingers away. “Gerroff! It’s only a whack on the bonce. My knee’s worse.”  
Bodie realised it was embarrassment talking, not a head injury. Satisfied of no other damage there, he turned to Andy’s leg, busying himself while he tested the man’s conscience. “We tidied up as we came along...”  
“None of its mine, you didn’t think...?” Andy pleaded.  
Bodie looked at him instantly; he’d just needed to hear Andy say it. “Not for a minute.”  
“I’m not Keller, Bodie!”  
“Not for a second.” Bodie emphasised.  
The two men froze at the sudden report of a gun, then another. Bodie drew his, a protective hand on his patient, and Andy watched him closely. They listened to shouting, followed by an exchange of gunfire and a rapid succession from one weapon only.  
As silence reigned Bodie got back to his task, knowing the tone of the side arm. “Ahh, that’s nice! Doyle’s found someone to play with. Two-nil, to us. Possibly more.” He debated whether to remove a piece of glass from the cut knee. He risked it then, pressure bandaging, grew serious again. “What’s all this about, then?”  
“Wanted my plans on a safety device. You find out about it?”  
“Yeah, a bit. That’s your area. Didn’t understand any of the technical stuff. But we guessed it would make things more expensive and they might want to stop you.”  
“Either that, or sell it themselves.”  
“Where are they, then?”  
“The plans? Didn’t get them.” Andy pointed at his head. “All up here and it was harder to get in than they thought.”  
“What, nothing written down? Better do it, now. Not safe up there, is it?” Bodie was grinning sympathetically. “They knew how to push the right buttons, that’s all. Right, nothing broken. Let’s try a little walkies, shall we?”  
He suddenly pulled up at movement in the corridor, reached for his gun, but relaxed as Doyle re-entered the room.  
“All quiet on the western front,” Doyle advised. “Cleared up our little guard problem. Tied him up. Nobbled the bike and car.”  
“That one was mine!” Bodie protested.  
“You can have the suits if they come our way. It’s getting dark. We shouldn’t be too long if we’re going to find the Landie again.”  
“Okay then,” Andy watched the two men gather up their things. “What’s the plan, boys?” He looked exhausted, still shaking and hugging himself, but his senses seemed to be reviving with the promise of freedom.  
Bodie snatched up the guard’s pistol from the floor. “Don’t really have one except for getting the hell out of here.”  
He checked the safety before he dropped the magazine out, counted rounds and reloaded it. “Here. Think you can handle this?” Bodie offered the pistol to Andy.  
“Bodie!” his partner hissed.  
Putting it into Andy’s hands, Bodie caught the worried look from Doyle. He returned the merest of nods and a blink which showed faith in someone who’d been at his back even before Doyle had. As he watched Andy familiarise himself with the weapon, he knew he’d been right. The man’s hands were steadier with something to do and an air of determination came over him. He looked up at Bodie and his eyes had a light which his old friend recognised.  
Bodie turned to Doyle, lowering his voice. “I know what you’re thinking; he’s been plied with booze and worse. But I know him. It may be a few years since he’s been operational but he isn’t over and out, yet. ‘Sides, we need him on his feet, or do you want to carry him?”  
Doyle was still unsure until he saw the confident way the other man gripped the pistol, pushing the firing pin to ready and back again. Even with the shakes, Andy certainly knew what he was doing and Doyle recalled his skill with machinery. He moved to Andy and held his hand out again. As they helped him up, you could feel the strength in him. Doyle glanced at his partner, supporting on the other side. Trust. Bodie’s learned to trust me over the years, that must have started somewhere.  
Bodie looked on with relief. If he was given the chance, he was sure Andy would step up quicker than they could say ‘gun’ and figured that handling a weapon again would give his friend the focus he needed. He also wanted him to feel he’d played a part in getting out of this situation and wasn’t just being rescued by them. Perhaps he’d draw a parallel later, when Andy was safe. Show him that if he could do this with only a little assistance, then he could tackle his dark phases and kick the drinking that came with them.  
He and Doyle shouldered the packs, checking their own guns as they moved from the room. Doyle placed Andy behind him, Bodie walked at rearguard. With the freed man halfway to capable, Doyle now recognised that they all stood a better chance of making it out in one piece. He retraced his earlier route and they made it outside. The light was all but gone but Doyle kept the procession to the wall of the building, around the end and to the other side, continually checking around them.  
Little did Doyle know, Andy was impressed with the ex copper’s patrolling skills, from what he later remembered of that evening.  
They struck outward into the countryside and Doyle began to breathe a little easier. Andy, however, was starting to fail again. Bodie called a hushed halt when they reached denser cover and Doyle turned to find the pair several yards behind, Andy swaying and leaning on Bodie.  
Doyle hurried back, took the weapon from Andy and stowed it, exchanging a look with his partner: stay to help, slowing them down, or go for the Land Rover and come back? ‘Rock, paper, scissors’ wasn’t needed, for once. Both hiked their heads in the direction of the vehicle at exactly the same moment.  
As Bodie later told the story, he didn’t have a choice anyway. Andy was so heavy, he didn’t have a hand free to make a rock, paper or scissors. And he owed him one. Andy had got him out of a crashed battle bus, back in the day. Had pulled a stunned Bodie up through the port, lowered him over the side and dragged him for twenty yards, all before the fuel tank blew. Bodie had come-to with Andy on top of him, a shield from the flying debris. Taffy had ribbed them for days that they’d have to get married.

 

The Land Rover found, Doyle drove it back toward the others, thanking Andy that the vehicle didn’t make a noise like the heap it appeared to be. Nearing their last position, Doyle wove through some sparse trees and rolled into the heather and scrub. Lights off, he could make out Bodie across the clearing, flashing his torch at the ground.  
They got Andy in with some difficulty and made him safe on the floor between the bench seats. Bodie got down there, too. “Get us out of here, Ray. I’ll catch up with Mallen another time,” he barked, as he paid attention to Andy’s recovery position and tucked a blanket around the man.  
Doyle didn’t need any further invitation.

 

“Some great week off we’ve had, so far! Didn’t know we were going to get dragged into this.” Bodie was opening up again in the relief of finding Andy.  
As he wrestled the Land Rover through the dark lanes, lights still off, Doyle shot a glance into the rear view mirror and could just make out his partner, behind. “Busman’s holiday. What other kind do we ever get?” he replied, now enjoying the thrill of this risky drive.  
Bodie could be heard laughing over the sounds of the engine and Andy Strawbridge’s snoring.  
Suddenly, all was interrupted in a blur.  
As Doyle looked back at the road, they met a junction and a fast-moving vehicle along with it. Momentarily blinded by its headlights, Doyle braked sharply, cursing as he fought with the steering and they slewed sideways. “Hold on!” he managed to shout, as their elation at getting away became a whirl of activity and noise.  
The rear passengers slid around, Bodie doing what he could to prevent Andy getting another bashing while keeping himself from taking off through the tailgate. The two vehicles danced around each other, ending up on opposite sides of the road. Silence and stillness followed just as rapidly as the danger had done and there was a pause.  
“Doyle?”  
“Yeah, I’m okay. You two?”  
“Fine.” Bodie was peering between the Land Rover’s cover flaps. “What d’you reckon? Number plate of the Beemer we’ve just missed is M4LL 3N...”  
“Gotta be. How’s it looking?”  
“Back end buried in the hedgerow. Interior light’s on. Two blokes slightly dazed and well out of place in this neck of the woods.”  
“How do you want to play it?”  
“They don’t know us from Adam. Exchange insurance details with the gentlemen, will you?”  
“I’ll exchange more than that...”  
“Ray,” Bodie scrambled forward to the cab. “Be careful.”  
“I was well on the way to being safe, warm and tucked up in bed before they showed up. I intend to be back at the cottage as soon as.”  
“And I intend to tuck this Mallen up warm and safe. They’re mine, remember?”  
“Just get round the back and don’t do anything stupid,” Doyle lectured, getting out of the driver’s side.  
Bodie saw the reflex left handed check of his side arm as Doyle left the door open for his partner’s exit. He walked to the rear of the Land Rover and started across the dark crossroads toward the illuminated car.  
The two men were getting out, the passenger looking a bit shaken but the driver, a tall man in his fifties, was very much alert. The one Doyle assumed to be Mallen came forward, fists balled and indignant. The CI5 agent had met his sort before. Could imagine the expensively suited man was used to being top of the food chain, his money employing ‘muscle’ like the two back at the barn.  
The partners had seen how the locals hated Mallen but had to respect his law. His kind didn’t impress Doyle at all.

 

\--oo0oo--


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodie joins his past to the present, and glimpses a future for himself.

Achilles’ Heel 

A weakness, in spite of your strength, can lead to your downfall. But it also takes a lot of strength to allow yourself to be vulnerable.

Chapter 6

 

Bodie squeezed between the seats and into the Land Rover’s cab. He slithered from the driver’s side to a crouch and considered his route.  
Here, the fields stood chest to head height higher than the lanes which wound through them. He tested the hedgerow above him. It was tough, spiky hawthorn or something but it was winter and he managed to find a thinner patch. Pulling his jacket up around his head, Bodie hoisted himself up and forced a way under the hedge, trusting that Doyle was keeping their targets occupied.  
He turned away from the crossroads and ran along the empty field’s edge, estimating thirty feet or so before he checked through the hedge. The vehicle lights were still clear but the road between them and Bodie was dark. Bodie climbed over, keeping flat and getting a good scratching for his pains, then dropped as quietly as he could back down into the road.  
As Bodie padded swiftly across to repeat his nature ramble on the opposite side of the lane, he could hear snatches of the conversation. Mallen was steaming.  
“You’ve damaged my car! And what were you doing coming from that direction? The only place down there is my property. You have no business being there!”  
Doyle’s voice sounded out familiar and true so that Bodie could see the scene in his head as he stalked closer.  
“Ah, well... you see, I’m looking for a Mr Mallen. That’s you is it?” Doyle fibbed, probably waving a surprised hand about or rubbing his curls wonderingly, Bodie grinned.  
Running, bent low, Bodie neared the crossroad and picked up Doyle’s voice again. The situation had obviously taken a turn.  
“Oh Mr Mallen, there’s no need for that!”  
“Until I know what you’re doing here, sonny, I don’t think I’ll take the chance. Now, who are you and what do you want with me?”  
Bodie peered through the hedgerow. The targets were directly in front with their backs to him and about ten feet apart. The closer man was holding his head as if hurt from the near collision; Mallen looked quite able and had apparently drawn a weapon on Doyle.  
Doyle held his arms wide but hadn’t surrendered. He wittered on about their day long search for Mallen without telling why. The innocent look on his wide-eyed mug told Bodie Doyle was enjoying himself and had a plan. But, thought Bodie, no one drew on his partner and got away with it. He moved on a safe distance and re-straddled the hedge.

 

Back in the road, Doyle had given Bodie enough time to circle around and was winding up to his own piece of the action. He glanced at the second man, standing by the car’s far wing. That one was pale and had a cut on his temple which he was dabbing with a hanky. He didn’t look fit for standing upright, let alone coming to the other’s aid.  
Doyle looked back at Mallen and frowned. He had a Browning levelled from his hip and looked fairly confident with it. But Doyle had many more weapons in his arsenal than this man could even dream of.  
“Well, what’s it to be? Tell me who you are or you’re coming to meet my minders...” Mallen didn’t get to expand on the apparent skills of his downed men at the barn.  
“Already met ‘em!” Doyle brought his arms in and down so swiftly that the other man couldn’t respond.  
It was over in seconds. Mallen yelled, finding himself in a paralysing wrist lock and dropped the gun into Doyle’s other hand. Doyle flipped it into a shooting grip and aimed at Mallen, just as Bodie crept up in the shadows.

 

Eyes locked on the action in the car lights, Bodie saw his partner’s martial arts expertise in full flow. Doyle started the move by showing his palms to Mallen and ended by showing the man his own palm... and a gun in his guts!  
“Now, look here! You’ve been trespassing on my property, you can’t be serious!” Rubbing his freed arm, Mallen was disbelieving under Doyle’s gun sight.  
“Deadly serious. This gun says so.” Doyle threw in a beaming smile, aware of what was happening behind his target.  
“If you know who I am, you also know I can’t be threatened!”  
Doyle looked down ‘innocently’ at the gun. “Oh, this? This isn’t a threat,” he smiled again, “It’s for real.”  
“You’re bluffing!”  
“I’m not.”  
Mallen looked round, to see Bodie with the frightened assistant in a high arm lock, a gun at his back. Used to being in control of every situation, Mallen tried to sound impressed by Bodie’s silent appearance. “Sykes? He’s nothing. Willing ‘go-fors’ are two a penny in my business.”  
“Fine by me!” The sound of a solid thud followed and Sykes dropped, out cold from Bodie’s rabbit punch.  
“Whereas you gentlemen are very good...” Still confident in his powers of persuasion, Mallen turned back to Doyle. “If you’d care to come to my offices tomorrow, I’m sure I can find positions for you both. I’d pay well for a couple of real mercenaries...”  
The arrogance died on the man’s lips as Bodie’s gun barrel pushed into the soft notch between his spine and skull.  
“Keep going,” Bodie growled. “I love it when someone insults me. Means I don’t have to be nice anymore.”  
Bodie put a hand on Doyle and firmly encouraged him backward.  
He took one step, trying to catch his partner’s eye. “Bodie,” Doyle warned. But he wasn’t listening; he was homed in on his quarry. God, Bodie was dead-eyed when he was like this.  
The voice was dead-sounding, too. “Add pulling a gun on my mate, here, and I get a bit tetchy...” He paused for effect while Mallen’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “The real worry for you, though, is fitting Andy up.”  
The realisation on Mallen’s face, swiftly followed by fear, was a sight to behold and one Doyle appreciated.  
But Bodie wasn’t even registering. “Andy Strawbridge. Remember him? Forcing drugs and booze on him? Knocking him about. For the last three days... Now, I’m more than a bit tetchy; now, I’m rather annoyed!” The pistol was ground deeper, angling upward.  
Mallen cringed.  
“And believe me, you don’t want to see the next stage.” Doyle knocked Bodie’s arm away and moved forward again. With Doyle’s gun back on Mallen, cue Bodie to back off but he wasn’t playing along.  
Doyle tried again. “Don’t, Bodie. Not worth it. We can add drug smuggling with intent to deal, to the charges.”  
“Not good enough. Just walk away, Doyle, you don’t have to be here.” Bodie was speaking to the side of Mallen’s head as the man’s eyes ping-ponged between his assailants.  
“Come on. Andy’ll be okay.”  
“We don’t know that, yet. He’s over there, pretty wasted and with seven bells knocked out of him!” Bodie snarled as he screwed the gun barrel into Mallen’s spine.  
Doyle’s voice came through, low and calm. “If Andy’s got you, he’s going to be fine. This guy’s going to lose his business, power, reputation; everything he was setting Andy up for. Think, Bodie. Don’t sink to his level.”  
Bodie’s stare flicked from Mallen to Doyle and back again in a heartbeat. “‘Level’? This shit isn’t even on the same planet as us!”  
“Exactly. Don’t go there.”  
Bodie’s gaze bore into him, this time. Doyle stayed firm. He couldn’t know all his pain, but could see his need to kill this guy, right now. And Doyle knew that wouldn’t stop Bodie’s hurt. Unlike Cowley, he didn’t need to threaten. These days, in this mood, Bodie was reachable; he just needed to keep eye contact.  
“Remember who you are, mate. What you’ve been through. And where you’ve got to. I can’t do it on my own. Don’t want to.”  
Bodie didn’t give but Doyle was allowed to beckon Mallen away from the pistol at his neck. The man was so relieved, he stumbled and Bodie got some satisfaction with a well-aimed boot in the retreating backside. Mallen pitched forward onto the ground and stayed there, panting.  
Doyle grabbed the collar of his overcoat and dragged Mallen up and away from the greater danger. From the corner of his eye, Doyle saw his partner’s gun slowly lowering. He breathed his own relief.  
Bodie watched them go. Doyle didn’t know the whole significance of what he’d just said.  
“Check on Andy and get something to tie these two up with.” It was Doyle’s turn to bark the orders, needing to keep his partner busy and his mind off killing these men.  
Astonishingly, it worked. Bodie was stony-faced but compliant as he went back to the Land Rover. All the same, Doyle’s radar was alert. Bodie had already moved like a cat that evening, Doyle couldn’t rule out being ambushed for Bodie’s own ends if he really wanted to.  
Doyle forced Mallen to heave his wakening assistant from the ground and get him into the car. Then he prodded the man at gunpoint back to the driver’s side, just as Bodie returned with some climbing rope that would make pliable but strong bonds for holding these two, for now.  
Bodie was tasked with tying their captives. Doyle gave him a meaningful ‘I’m trusting you’ stare, before he went across the road to make good his plans for Mallen’s arrest.  
Doyle collected up most of the false evidence that had been laid on Andy Strawbridge’s trail. In the back of the Land Rover, Andy was unaware of this new drama. Bodie was right, his injuries were excessive for persuasion tactics and Doyle could see Bodie had padded the man’s head position to maintain his airway.  
On his return, Doyle was faintly amused. Bodie had gagged Mallen with his own tie and was taking out his frustration through the inventive way he was trussing their captives. At least he hadn’t hogtied them; his dubious past hadn’t raised itself that far.  
Doyle let off the car’s handbrake and rolled it clear of the bank. Then he started to cache the drugs about the car, distributing bags under the spare tyre and behind the back seat. If there had been time, he’d have liked to get into the door and roof linings to copy real drug smugglers. A few bags in the fuel tank would have been a nice touch, too. But the thicker protective wrapping was unsealed and a clued-up copper would notice the mistake.  
As Doyle straightened up Bodie was standing still, watching his attention to detail in clearing Andy’s name. There was nothing to read on his face. He came forward and dumped the whisky box in the BMW’s boot, but pocketed the half bottle of vodka before slamming the lid shut.

 

They drove away.  
All was silent in the back of the Land Rover. Now and again, Doyle looked into the rear view mirror. Bodie’s shape was hunched over and watching Andy on the floor. He took an occasional draw on the vodka. After a while, Bodie shifted sideways along the bench and stuck his head between the seats. He offered the bottle to Doyle who pushed it politely away.  
Bodie recapped the vodka and dropped it onto the passenger seat. He flapped one of the cash bundles. “Thanks, Ray.”  
Doyle had the luxury of driving by headlights this time and took a quick look at his partner. “‘S’okay. Easiest money we ever got from a Scot! Mallen won’t say he’s missing a couple of thou. when he’s bang to rights for the rest, will he?”  
“Not just this. For stopping me... well, y’know.”  
“Never been able to stop you if you really want to do something.”  
The next glance said it all.  
Bodie riffled the money thoughtfully. “Give it to Andy’s parents, yeah?”  
“Good idea. Rainy day fund. But you’re buying every round ‘til we get home.”  
“What? That’ll cost me a fortune! I know what you’re like when you’ve got a thirst, and you’ve seen the size of him!” Bodie jerked his head to the sleeping man, behind them.  
“Bodie...!”  
“Alright, keep your mop on! Seeing as you’ve kept me out of grief the whole week, I’m in the chair.”

\--oo0oo--

Doyle helped Andy Strawbridge sip some water then lay back down. The man seemed much more with-it and had nothing else to chuck up. This time looked like it was the last.  
He’d also stopped fighting them. Doyle flopped into the armchair they’d stationed at the bedside, taking it in turns with Bodie to snatch a few minutes rest through the night and most of today. It had really made him think. This could be any of them. Himself, Bodie; Cowley, even. Pretty much anyone in their line of work could be in this situation.  
Early that morning, before Doyle dropped off for a while, he’d watched Bodie with his old friend. Reassuring him quietly that it was all over as he held Andy’s fists back from punching the wall. Being there, despite what Bodie was clearly feeling himself, although Doyle could only guess at what that was.  
What the hell was I thinking? Doyle told himself as he got up wearily and checked the sleeping man. Jealous like some kid who’d lost his best friend to the new boy in school! You’re a stupid prat, Raymond Doyle, this is the bloke who put all the hard work into Bodie only for you to get the payoff.

 

After a snooze, Doyle’s heavy head slipped from his hand and he jerked awake. God, his neck hurt! His arms, legs and back were pretty much in agreement, come to think of it.  
He got up from the chair, stretching, and made sure the patient was breathing safely. Then he went to the bathroom, took a pee and washed his hands and face, realising it was almost dark again. Checking his watch, it was four in the afternoon.  
He and Bodie had finally cleaned Andy up and re-tended his wounds yesterday evening. Leaving Bodie to watch over his friend, Doyle phoned the local cop shop and met the officers at Mallen’s car, to be sure they were on track but didn’t catch up with Andy just yet.  
When he’d arrived back at the cottage, Bodie yelled for his help. Then the real work had begun.  
As Doyle went downstairs now, he ran through those hours and knew he never wanted to see anything like it again. Certainly not in a friend. Bodie had handled his mate with such care and concern. He’d also needed to be strong and calm as Andy battled the two of them and every drop of booze as it left his system. The man hadn’t been taken over by drink but it had been a close run thing.  
At the living room doorway, Doyle paused and watched Bodie. He’d been absolutely knackered earlier, refusing to take a break until Doyle shoved him out of Andy’s room. Now he’d been sleeping like the dead since midday.  
The embers of a log fire threw glimmer and shadow across the long relaxed body, arm over his face and a blanket he’d used half on the floor. Doyle went to pick it up, smiling that his partner could have been taking a break in the rest room at work. Bodie always had been able to sleep anywhere, any time.  
Yeah, no need to get funny about Andy. Didn’t matter who else Bodie was loyal to, they’d always be here for each other.  
Despite moving carefully, Doyle didn’t see a mug on the floor. He knocked it over and the mug rolled against the stone hearth before he could stop it.  
Bodie groggily propped himself up to peer down at Doyle on all fours. “What’re you doing down there?” The shift from deep sleep to wisecrack so quick that Doyle could have smacked his face if Bodie hadn’t still looked pale and strained.  
“Looking for your last servant. Probably died of exhaustion,” Doyle shot back.  
Bodie rubbed his eyes, grinning. “Andy okay?”  
“Well,” Doyle made a so-so gesture as he rose. “Think we’re past the worst, now. He’s asleep, but I’ll check on him in a bit.”  
“I’ll go next time. You didn’t sign up for this.”  
“And you’d been with him non-stop since yesterday, needed the kip. Want some food?”  
“I could eat a scabby horse...”  
Doyle tutted and chucked the blanket over his partner’s head as he headed for the kitchen.  
“But if you’re cooking, I know it’ll be gourmet grub!” muffled Bodie tried to salvage.

 

Doyle took eggs and various vegetables from the fridge and before long a large Spanish omelette was being finished off in the oven. Bodie was allowed to cut up a loaf and fetched two of the beers which had been returned to the car boot. Having checked on Strawbridge again, they sat down to eat.  
“I feel funny drinking with Andy so bad upstairs.” A bottle went down, untouched.  
Doyle ran his fingers through his hair. “Me too. Good job you didn’t get like this.”  
“I’ve come close. Kicked off, out of control... you’ve seen me.” Bodie was forking the meal around his plate.  
“The Hells Angels? They deserved it.”  
“But I floored you, as well. Cowley had to draw on me. And that arrest before the reunion. It’s been anyone who gets in the way.”  
“You know the signs, now. Reckon this week will make me more aware, too.”  
“Guess we’ve all got something to brood on, something from the past.”  
“We get each other through but Andy’s been trying on his own. I’m sure he’ll be alright if he can accept some help.”  
The usually hungry man threw down his fork. “I let him down, Ray. Back then, I cut him out because of my own troubles... And look what’s happened. I’m on the up and Andy’s sliding the other way.”  
“You haven’t let him down! Would you have gone looking for him, spent all this time cleaning him up, if you didn’t care?”  
“I suppose...”  
“Good. Now get that down you. I’ve gone to a lot of bother.”  
Doyle busied himself with his own meal, taking a quick look when Bodie’s eating had settled into its familiar rhythm. He seemed okay but not quite his usual controlled self. So, he’d ‘cut Andy out’. But why? And a moment of hesitation had passed, just then. ‘My own troubles’ he’d said.  
Bodie never admitted to being in trouble, nor mentioned anything in his past unless it was forced out of him by circumstance. Doyle had felt something hanging over his partner for most of their stay in Scotland. It had grown stronger the closer they got to Andy and now Bodie had seemed to invite Doyle to ask what it was.  
This was unheard of, but you never knew with Bodie. Even after all their years together, Doyle had to tread carefully and when he hadn’t taken up the prompt, it appeared Bodie was willing to let it go.  
Doyle wondered what might be said. Say it again, Bodie, and I’ll know you mean it. Mention it again and I’ll ask.  
But Bodie stayed silent. Doyle ate on and the matter drifted until it was too late to raise it again.

\--oo0oo--

“Bodie?”  
“Here, mate.”  
“Am I in hospital?”  
“Didn’t think you’d want to go. You’re at home, we managed you. Wasn’t easy. You get really punchy!”  
“I remember you and Ray being here... thanks.”  
“Try and rest, now. You’re going to be okay.” Bodie got up from the bedside and busied himself with pouring some water. He held it to his friend’s lips.  
“Think I might get help, this time.”  
“Well, I’m no expert but maybe you should. You’re better than this, Andy. Don’t let it beat you.”  
“Where do I start?”  
“Look, I’d like to help if you’ll let me. I could ask Statham. Or my lot. I’ll get onto it quietly when we get back, then you can take it from there. What d’you think?”  
“Cheers.”  
“And I’ll be around, you know, checking up. After all, you didn’t give up on me.”  
“I did.”  
“Only after I’d shoved you away so many times, you got pissed off.”  
“And I let you stick one on me! Why the hell couldn’t you have let me help you?”  
“You know why. It would’ve dragged you under, too.”  
“You’re okay now, though.”  
“Yeah. But it all ends like this, Bridgie... In the end, every one like us is alone.” Bodie sighed deeply. “Good that we’ve caught up again, though.”  
“Weren’t gonna get rid of me that easily.” They looked at each other and Andy changed the subject. “Police?”  
“Sorry, they had to know. Our hands were full with you and your ‘friends’ had to be caught. These country coppers are really suspicious, Doyle had to insist they got CID down from the city!”  
“Bet he enjoyed that.”  
“Yeah, loved it. They’ve checked we’re CI5 and Doyle’s been on the phone to our boss, getting clearance. Cowley’s come up against this kind of sabotage before. You’ll be clear from too many questions but we won’t let them see you until you’re ready.”  
“Ray’s good, he’ll make them understand.” The man rested then was suddenly anxious, grabbing for the other. “Rache’! Bodie, they’ll go after Rachel!”  
Bodie pushed him carefully back. “She’s fine. She’s with her friends in Aberdeen. Been there since we got onto your trail. The police are looking out for her until they get everyone involved.”  
“Oh, thank God! What about Mallen?”  
“The suit and his sidekick? We had them just after we found you,” Bodie said, with relish. “They came back but you’d flaked out and missed all the fun. Very brave with a gun in his hand but pathetic when we proved better.”  
“Dead?”  
“No. Was tempted, but thought he deserved a taste of his own medicine,” Bodie leered, mysteriously.  
Andy grinned too, understanding the hint. “You think of everything. Always did.”  
“Well, you’re such a numbskull... No, actually it was Doyle. Made me see sense. Partners, eh?”  
“Told you he’s good.”  
“Oh, and Mallen kindly made a donation for your mum and dad.”  
“He did what?” Andy saw Bodie’s sincerity. “Hey, my folks are alright that way. I’m still in touch with Taffy’s mum, though. She could do with it more...”  
“Yeah, do that. And give her my best.”  
“Come with me and tell her yourself.”  
“We’ll see. Get some rest. I’ll be back later.” Bodie moved out of sight but stayed in the room until Andy was asleep again.

\--oo0oo--

Two days later, the partners looked around the pub as their bodies and senses began to thaw from the biting wind outside. Inside was warm and welcoming now that the locals had accepted them, their accents no longer so strange and they were with someone considered to be marginally less of an outsider. As the three men worked their way to the bar, even Andy’s cuts and bruises weren’t interesting to people who had similarly dangerous jobs; his appearance only raising droll comments such as ‘Didn’ae duck fast enough, eh?’  
Bodie wasn’t worried when Andy had suggested they come to the pub, as usual. He was no alcoholic, they could see that. And the pub being the heart of the community it was, this was real life. A life Andy needed to tackle on his own when they’d gone.  
The cosy bar room of wood and stone was decorated with old glass fishing weights and photos which showed the local sights and characters. A crackling fire was tended by whoever was passing and a couple of dogs were crashed out in front of it. The hum of the pub was soothing as Bodie found a table, anticipating a tankard of lager and a hearty meal. He watched on with pleasure as Doyle and Andy bantered with each other at the bar, handing over Bodie’s cash to the barmaid.  
The general effect was of an island of refuge from every danger out there - the weather, rigs or trawlers, your own personal demons or the menace of the city that he and Doyle would be returning to.  
Bodie found himself liking this place more and more. He could see the attraction of being part of a small rural community. Somewhere you could start out anonymously, like Andy had, and then make your mark by working hard, fitting in and getting to know people as yourself, not just some sketchy image that you allowed them to see.  
This place was so much more real than a city where you were only one of the faceless crowd. He’d known it as a kid, in the back-to-backs. And felt something like it in Africa, but there fighting had always outweighed the snatched moments of peace. Both were a long time ago now, a world away, but he could still feel the warmth they’d left inside.  
Being here with Andy and the memories he’d stirred, were making Bodie reflect that he’d been either on the perverse side of his job or a shadowy figure, for most of his adult life.  
Yes, with their job it was necessary to have camouflage and London was a good place to be anonymous. But these days he often felt tired of being a chameleon, becoming who or what the situation demanded. Being yourself was becoming less and less possible in the changing world of CI5. And Bodie now understood that didn’t want to lose himself.  
Here, people left you in peace but didn’t ignore you, either. Nor did they judge you by what you’d been or done in the past. They took you at face value and weighed your present words and actions. You could be covert in a different way, ‘hidden in plain sight’ - more comfortable, less isolating and your enemy could be seen from miles away. A body could be just as safe here, as in London. Plus, this place had a sense of being accepted, of belonging.  
In a way Bodie envied Andy this peace and solitude in his life. After years of moving and fighting, setting himself down for he never knew how long, whether in CI5 or something else, to have this kind of normality could be welcome. Bodie considered that as he got older, if he could stay alive, a place to belong to might help him deal with his own ghosts and the danger which would never be behind him.  
Yeah, he could cope with a similar way of life one day. Eventually. If he could hold onto life, that is; if he deserved it.  
Bodie looked at his old friend as he came over. Andy lounged in a carver chair, legs stretched out toward the fire and contentedly smiled back at him. He was battered and shaken after the week’s excitement but now safe and essentially none the worse for his adventure. His job was secure, enemies taken care of and Bodie was reassured that the man wanted to fight on for these and a multitude of other good reasons.  
Witnessing the first moments of Andy’s reunion with Rachel had been touching. Bodie had closed the door on them thinking that, whether reconciled or not, they had a bond of real strength and that such a relationship may never happen for him.  
Rachel hadn’t mentioned Claire again, Andy knew not to and, though he’d got close to it, Bodie hadn’t unburdened to Doyle. It was just as well. After all this time no one else needed to know. What would be the point?  
“Cheers.” The two of them welcomed Doyle as he returned from the bar, hands clasped around two pints and a tall glass.  
“Here, to keep you going until the food arrives.” From his pockets, Doyle dropped some packets of crisps in front of Bodie then took the jacket off. He rolled up his shirt sleeves and picked up a pint. “Cheers Andy, Bodie.” He drank. “I’m, umm... want a chaser?” he grinned.  
“Barmaid?” Bodie assumed, handing over another fiver before his partner headed off.  
The pair watched him go and supped their drinks thoughtfully, Andy appreciating Doyle getting him tonic water without asking.  
“He’s gonna crash and burn, Bodie.”  
“Why? She bat for the other side?”  
“No! Kirsty enjoys teasing the tourists, but she’s with Graham over there...” He furtively pointed at a man mountain who had forearms like Popeye’s.  
Bodie whistled in appreciation. “Oh, he’ll be alright. Chance to get to know people better!”  
Andy fixed his eyes on Doyle, standing at the bar. “Yeah, but watch his back, eh? He’s a good partner and mate. Don’t you forget that.”  
And Bodie understood the unspoken: ‘the baton was passed long ago but don’t get careless, Bodie. You honour the man that took it.’  
Over the sound of crisps being scoffed, Andy voiced something else on his mind. It was probably on Bodie’s, too. “Taff would’ve loved this, half the Justice League back together.”  
“Yeah. Still miss the mad bugger?”  
“Every time I see someone drinking Newkie Brown. You?”  
“’Course. No one told a shaggy dog story like our Taffy.” Bodie exchanged sad smiles with his friend before his face hardened at thoughts of the fourth member. “Keller - what a waste.”  
“Maybe he’s redeemable?”  
“He lumped me on the head and dumped me out of a car!”  
“Diddums...”  
Bodie stuck his tongue out at Andy. “Murder, arson, abandoning a mission, theft of half a million, conspiracy with a known terrorist associate...” Bodie pulled another face. “The way he screwed up, he’s not going to be trusted again.” He finished the crisps, scrunched the packet and tossed it into the fire. Sore point dealt with.  
“We could always find ourselves that Scotsman and aim for the ‘living joke’, this time. Don’t s’pose you’re Scottish, Ray?” Andy asked, as Doyle returned with more drinks and a distracted look.  
“No, Derby.” Doyle sat, nodding back at the bar. “Thanks for telling me Kirsty has a boyfriend, fellas!”  
Andy looked accusingly at a sheepish Bodie.  
But Doyle had been reading his partner’s expressions for far too long. He drew the moment out before finally admitting, “Nah, she took pity on me ‘cause I’m your friend, Andy. Says her grandma – Mrs McGregor – reckons we’re ‘braw laddies’. Still not forgiving you, though...” Doyle scowled at Bodie until both couldn’t help but laugh.  
Doyle joined in the banter. “If you want a Scotsman, I could ‘do a Cowley’.”  
“Bloody Cowley!” the partners chanted, in mock Scottish unison.  
Andy looked at them, bemused, and Bodie explained. “Our boss.”  
Doyle caught onto their train of thought. “There you are, then. Have him as your Scotsman. Now all you need’s the Welsh.”  
“No, only Taff could be that man. Better we should stick with this: two English and a half Irishman.”  
“Half Irish with Scally tendencies.” Andy added, knowingly.  
“Up the Reds!” Bodie chanted, twirling an imaginary football rattle.  
Doyle shoved a scotch at his partner. “What’re we drinking to, then?”  
“Freedom?” Bodie raised the glass.  
Andy Strawbridge looked thoughtfully at the stuff which could cause him so much trouble. He lifted his fresh tonic to them. “No, teamwork. Thanks for the help, boys, even if you are both a bit scrawny...”

\--oo0oo--

“We’re never back already!” Doyle surfaced from beneath the newspaper covering his face. The darkened motorway service area was deserted apart from a few haulage trucks, their drivers eating in the brightly lit café.  
“No. ‘Bout halfway.”  
“Where, halfway?”  
Bodie opened the driver’s door a crack. “Oh, somewhere between Scotland and home,” he teased. Adding in a softer tone, “’Tween Andy and CI5... then and now...”  
Doyle stretched and yawned, “My turn, then.”  
“Not yet. Let’s get a coffee and some air.” Bodie took a deep breath and blew it out. “Ray, there’s some things I need to tell you. Things you should know.” He flicked a nervous smile in Doyle’s direction then swung out of the car using the roof for leverage.  
The cold blast of air and slam of the door brought Doyle fully to his senses. The penny dropped that something significant was coming, and of Bodie’s own choice. Doyle saw his partner pull down the leather jacket, fasten it around him and shove his hands deep in its pockets; steeling himself. He’d let Bodie talk this time, no matter how long it took.  
Bodie took a few steps on that neutral ground before turning to find Doyle still inside the car, watching him with concerned eyes.  
Bodie began walking backwards. He waved his wallet. The wallet containing Claire’s photo which would be his starting point with Doyle. “Well, you coming or not? I’m buying.” 

\--oo0oo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Bodie, Andy, Rachel, Taffy and Claire; and to all those like them in Real Life - past, present and future. Sadly, there are still wars in our world - real and figurative. They affect not just the men and women involved but also those left behind and who live on afterward.  
> But, amazingly, there will always be courage, strength, brotherhood and love. And, as The Bible says, the greatest of these is love.  
> If you have appreciated this story, the next time you see a collection for Combat Stress or Help for Heroes (Lewis’ chosen memorial charity), SSAFA or RAFBF, please consider giving; or, at 11am on November 11th, Remembrance Day/ Veteran’s Day or on ANZAC Day, take those two minutes to reflect. Thank you.
> 
> Parts of this story were inspired by song lyrics from ‘Achilles’ Heel’ by Toploader:  
> Goodbye to the sky  
> I know I can’t fly but I feel love  
> Do you know how I feel?  
> You are my Achilles’ Heel  
> Hello to below  
> I feel love flow like a river flow  
> You and I standing still  
> You are my Achilles’ Heel.


End file.
